AWOL
by Asynca
Summary: A continuation of Tomb Raider 6: Angel of Darkness. A fabled city buried in Turkey is unearthed, and Lara, with the help of the enigmatic Kurtis Trent, must prevent the findings from falling into the wrong hands. WIP, recently edited.


AWOL Chapters 1 - 8

By Asynca

--

It always began the same way - just your regular excursion into the lower recesses of some temple, some mildly intimidating enemies, a few scrapes and bruises... and then the whole scene would change.

It would start with the sounds of rocks crumbling and adversaries roaring disappearing into the background, and Lara would find herself standing alone in an infinitely vast hall. The details were always so clear: the triangular white marbling of the floors and the sound of her reinforced steel caps treading across them, beams of light falling on airborne dust particles in streaks, and the acute awareness something important was about to happen.

There was no way out of the hall. No matter how much she ran around inside, the door was always a tiny structure in the distance.

When she stopped running, that's when it appeared. First she would be aware of the radiating heat, searing her uncovered skin and forcing her to close her eyes and shield herself against the onslaught. The light would become so bright that even with her forearm over her eyes the pain was incredible, and she would become aware of herself screaming only when she felt the impact of the marble floor against her back, and the heat on her tongue and throat.

Just as soon as it had begun it would cease, and she would feel someone helping her to her feet, strong arms holding her upright as she rubbed her eyes in a feeble attempt to recover her vision.

His warm breath would tickle her ear. "Don't open them, you can see better without them." She would comply and leave them closed. The hall would disappear, and they would be standing nowhere, nothing beneath them or above them. Lara would become completely aware that where they were was in absence of space, time or substance.

Yet, when he walked her forwards, a hand on her hip, another around under her armpit to support her, she would become aware of something in front of them. He would lead her toward where the nucleus of the light had been, and in front of them on a pedestal, she would... see?... an object glowing, what appeared to be a cracked test tube.

"That's it," he would state resolutely. "Isn't it beautiful?"

She nodded. Her lips would sting, and it hurt to move them. As she desperately tried to ask what it was, he would gentle lower her back to the marble floor, which was absent in sight but perceivably cold against her thighs. Then, he would back away from her.

She would shake her head, her lips parting in a silent plea for him to stay as she reached out toward him.

But, he was already gone.

Lara threw herself awake, grabbing wildly at the air, feeling gravel pressing into her stomach. Given a brief moment to orient herself, and she was able to find herself out of bed, and by the main gate of Croft Manor. Pulling herself to stand awkwardly and brushing the gravel from her front, she looked up toward the sky. The fading stars and a glow by the horizon meant that it would soon be daybreak.

Eyes back downwards, she followed her progress from the pavement through the gravel to where she had lay, and spotted the lock from the gate discarded nearby. This struck her as odd, as Winston kept the key in his study and the lock was clearly not broken.

_Very strange_, Lara thought to herself, remembering the test tube. _I wonder what it all means._

She picked her way painfully through the gravel in bare feet to the paved area in front of the main doors, and tried to determine which way she had exited the house, looking first to the side door where everyone usually frequented.

Nothing, the bolt still fastened.

Deciding it was too cold and too early to complete her puzzle at that point, she pressed the doorbell, and listened to scuffling and one or two course words while keys jangled behind the door just before it swung open.

"Sorry," she told the bleary faced butler as she walked through the door being held open for her into centralized heating.

"Between botched murder accusations and you gallivanting outside at four a.m. in your night clothes, I don't know what to do with you, Lara." He yawned, closing the door behind her. "I suppose you want breakfast, then?"

"Actually I think I'll just head off back to bed, thanks." She joined him in a yawn. "I feel like I haven't slept for four years."

Winston shook his head, and tucked the keys back into his gown. "What on earth were you doing out there, anyway?"

Lara paused, considering her answer. "I don't know."

Winston gave her a perplexed look, and then shook his head, heading back toward the stairs that lead to his quarters. "Neither do I, Lara, neither do I."

She briefly watched his descent, then headed toward the main stairs.

Her bed was stone cold; she obviously hadn't been in it for some time. Searching back to her childhood as she tucked herself back in, she tried to remember if she'd ever sleepwalked before. She remembered an occasion when she was 11 or 12 and she'd fallen out of bed in a sweat fever... but that was about it.

Alone in the dark with her thoughts, she picked through the dream and tried to establish the events. The marble floors had been Armenian, she thought, those triangles were distinctly Kurdish in arrangement. Which meant one place: Turkey.

Her heart began to pound, and she tried to recall what she'd done straight after dealing with Eckhart and that Karel. With dismay, she realized she'd simply rushed out of the chamber to the pit where Kurtis had been fighting that Boaz-mutant, and had simply hoped - to the point of assumption - that everything would be destroyed when the Nephilim exploded.

Not again, she thought violently to herself, and pulled the pillow over her head. As if she hadn't already had enough of the Nephilim and those goons that lurked around in anticipation of the resurrection of the angelic hybrids. _I don't even have the periapt shards or that gold symbol, which means I'll have to go back to Prague first_, she realized. _If only Kurtis could..._ She stopped mid-thought, recalling the breath on her neck, and the support of the man leading her through the marble hall.

Kurtis!

She sat upright in bed, her blood rushing from her head and causing her to lose her balance as she whipped off her duvet and launched herself out of her coverlets. She caught herself before she hit the ground, on her hands and knees staring at the floorboards.

There, in front of her, was a footprint on her polished floor, too big to be her own. The intricate grip-system was signature of high quality hiking boots. She followed the prints to the wall, and followed the wall line with her eyes to her backpack, which had been opened. Shaking her head incredulously, she stood up, and felt through the contents with a smile growing across her face as she predicted the inevitable.

The Chirugai was gone, in its place a note scribbled in simply terrible handwriting.

_Nice Pajamas.  
1428 Ersikrisra Precstiya  
Catalca, Turkey.  
Ask for Ezguk, no one else speaks English._

Inadvertently, her fingers traced over the text, smudging the new ink a little at the ends of letters. _I knew you weren't dead_, she thought peacefully, looking down at her favourite old nightclothes and wondering exactly how thin the worn cotton was.

Back to reality, she took a deep breath, memorizing the note in case something happened to it, before scrunching it up and shoving it into the front pocket of her pack. Her clothes wouldn't get on fast enough, and she tripped over her shorts twice while trying to unearth her woollen explorer socks as quickly as possible. In a rush, she shoved three or four handguns and some 45mm ammo into a carrier luggage container, as her other hand pressed the intercom. The  
connection buzzed. "Winston, can you book me a last minute flight?"

There was a silence, followed by a pronounced sigh. "Yes, Lara. Where to this time?"

"Turkey."

This stuff must be plastic, Lara thought furiously to herself as she poked around the capsule with a flimsy disposable fork. The food, which was arranged neatly in little compartments labelled clearly with their nutritional value index, looked rather dubious. _If I were a terrorist, I'd murder everyone on principle after taking one bite of this stuff_, she decided as she pressed the call for service button.

As her butler had only been able to squeeze her into a flight in economy, she had to wait close to fifteen minutes for attention. By that time, her so-called toast had turned grey, her half-burnt bacon had solidified, and her stomach was protesting violently inside her. She smiled a little too sweetly and gestured to her food. "Tell me, do you have any actual food on board this aircraft?"

The cabin hostess looked a little confused, her blonde curls bobbing as she looked from Lara's full plate to her snake-like smile. Lara had never had good experiences with blondes; most had turned out to be either maniacally evil or tragically simpleminded. "I'm sorry, Ma'am...." The blonde accepted the capsule of food Lara offered her. "What exactly do you mean? Are you a vegetarian?"

Lara mentally ticked the 'dim' category. It didn't matter, really, she could do something about the hunger problem when she arrived in Istanbul and had access to a supermarket. She waved the hostess away politely and replaced Werner's leather-bound diary on airline table to study her last entry, a copy of Kurtis' note in neat handwriting on a blank page in the book. She had been about to throw the note away unthinkingly, but decided at the last minute that having two copies might not be such a bad idea. Well, that, and the fact that she rather liked the idea of getting one back on Kurtis by confronting him with his terrible penmanship.

So, Turkey. According to her trusty Ethnology Encarta, she shouldn't have too much trouble finding her way around, as most people in the cities spoke English. Not that she worried about that these days anyway, as there always seemed to be at least someone who spoke English well enough for her to have questions answered. However, she predicted that in outer areas like Catalca she might have substantially more trouble, as Kurtis' note warned. She placed the note like a bookmark at the top of the page, and closed the diary.

Her flight pulled into Hezarfen Airport substantially earlier than predicted by her itinerary, which left only one more hurdle to her safe passage in Turkey - customs.

"I'm sorry, Miss Croft," the security attendant said shortly in clipped English. "We still must be examining the luggage."

Lara cringed at use of 'Miss', but didn't like her chances of getting her luggage at all if she corrected him. "What's the problem?" she inquired innocently.

The security guard leaned back a little and conferred in whispered Turkish with the customs representative. The security guard nodded conclusively, and turned back to Lara. "You have too many weaponry in the luggage," he told her. "We will have to be taking it here."

Here we go, Lara prepped herself. "But you'll beat us again!" Lara exclaimed.

"Pardon me?"

Lara launched into her favourite alibi - that she was a sport shooter for England competing in prelims in the country. To take her guns from her would incite suspicion of sabotage. She used her most dramatic gesticulation, and tried to sound as alarmed as possible. As usual it worked, this time thanks to the popularity of hunting in the region, so she put a hefty bond down with her declaration of suspect goods form at customs, and walked away with every single gun and bullet she had packed.

Her stomach directed her to a supermarket, where she purchased a couple of ready-meals and a pair of scissors. How hypocritical, she thought dryly about airport security, they take my medical scissors at check in and let me have my guns on check out.

Both the ready-meals she ate cold on the bus to Catalca, listening to people chatter to each other in a language she didn't speak a word of. She wasn't even hungry after the first, but in a decision motivated partly by boredom, she decided she needed to stock up on calories for the road ahead. The result was nausea, which wasn't helped by the fact the bus sped around corners. Since she was already feeling sorry for herself, her thoughts segwayed to sulking about the bad job she had done finishing business in Prague while she had been searching high and low for either Kurtis or his bloodless corpse.

People don't just disappear, she told herself again, so perhaps Karel really was Kurtis after all? However disturbing that theory was, it didn't explain the human blood spilled across the grating. Karel didn't appear to bleed, either, and certainly hadn't been acting the way someone would if they had bled out. Plus, she had watched Luddick being tortured and killed, whilst Karel remained very much alive. Nephilim were doppelgangers; but even doppelgangers first need an existing form in order to replicate.

I wonder what I left undone, she thought to herself. I killed Eckhart, and the Nephilim combusted Karel inside that laboratory. Her memory supplied her with the image of the cracked test tube from her dreams. Perhaps it's something totally separate from Prague, she decided. After all, the remains did originally come from Turkey in the first place, maybe there was more where they came from, maybe even a whole other circle of wannabes. That idea wasn't particularly appealing, but it was certainly more favourable than wondering to herself if she'd done something terribly wrong in Prague. She was also unclear about the roles the gold symbol and the periapt shards might have this time around, it was possible they were specific to the defeat of Eckhart and Karel. She fingered top of the note protruding from the pages of Werner's diary, wishing Kurtis had left a phone number so she could have her questions answered.

The heat of the day was fading as she alighted from the bus and disposed of her ready-meal rubbish in an overfull bin.

Turkish alphabet being more or less Roman, following the map to her destination proved easier than expected. In front of her, a three story building loomed, surrounded by apartment blocks. The script on the gate-head read '1428 - Precstiya'. The building was modest sandstone, with a tiled roof and a very boldly constructed entrance that screamed of Greek design. Planted in the small but extravagant front yard were palms and vibrant flowers that glowed almost fluorescently in the fading sunlight.

Beside the gate was an expensive-looking intercom. She wondered how the housekeeper had managed to prevent it from being stolen as she pressed the green button.

A young woman's voice answered in a string of Turkish, using tonal patterns Lara would expect from a receptionist. Lara pressed the button again, and leaned a little closer to the intercom, "It's Lara Croft. I'm here for Ezguk."

There was a silence, and Lara wondered if she should have bribed one of those people staring at her on the bus to come and translate for her.

Finally, the intercom rasped and a man's voice answered, "That was quick, come right in."

The gate clicked, and Lara tried the handle, finding it to be unlocked. It shrieked in protest as she closed it behind her, approaching the stairs leading to the arched doorway. As she jogged up them, the door opened to reveal what she assumed was Ezguk. The first thing she noticed about him was that his name didn't match his appearance - his skin was pale and his hair would have once been auburn. He was not a young man, either, she could see his cropped cinnemon beard fading to grey. However, his skin was hardly wrinkled and he had a very youthful twinkle in his eyes.

"Ezguk, I presume?" she asked, extending her hand toward him.

"The same," he smiled, and rather than shaking her hand, brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed them lightly. Lara felt uncomfortable, but decided to let it slide - he was probably just being polite.

"Lara," she replied, tucking her violated hand into the pocket of her jeans. He nodded, standing aside to let her pass into the house.

The interior of the house was just as extravagant as the outside, with probably equally as many flowers in bloom. The foyer was vast, and the ceilings reached up through the other two stories to a variable sunroof, with a cold stone floor kept the room at a comfortable temperature.

Over to the left of the door was a conservatory table, surrounded by three padded chairs. The table had been set for an English tea, and there were dinner rolls in a wicker basket in the centre of it.

"Please, sit down. My housekeeper is making dinner for us at this very moment, and we have much to discuss." If she pinned him correctly his accent was eastern British Aristocracy. She wondered what he was doing in Turkey.

"You're English," she accused him as she took the seat with its back to the wall, and unrolled her serviette.

"I'm Turkish," he smiled good-naturedly, sitting opposite her. "Would you like to see my passport?" She watched him at length, before dropping the matter. She could conduct her own private investigation later.

"So, you're my woman are you?" he inquired.

She raised her eyebrows dangerously. "I'm sorry...?"

He laughed as he selected a roll from the basket. "Well, the expression 'the man for the job' doesn't really fit here, does it?"

"I suppose not," Lara said carefully, not particularly liking where the conversation was heading. She'd done her share of go-fetch errands for various people in Paris, and wasn't particularly warm to the idea of running around Istanbul for someone.

He unfolded a little sachet of butter, which was already melted soft from the heat, and spread it neatly on his broken dinner roll. "I've been told all about you and your talents by Mr. Archer, of course-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Archer?"

Ezguk stopped buttering his roll and looked up at her. "Didn't he tell you he'd already told me about you?"

Lara paused, her brow lowering as she connected the dots. Rather than quiz Ezguk further on this detail, she played along. "Never mind, it's just I'm not used to hearing him referred to as Mr. Archer, that's all," she said truthfully.

Ezguk's pleasant smile returned to his face. "That makes sense. Well, when Leighton contacted me about you, I knew you were the only person who would be able help me."

Lara snickered inwardly about Kurtis' choice of nom-de-plum. _Leighton Archer_, she snickered inwardly. _What is that man's penchant for having a name of surnames?_

Keeping her thoughts to herself, she nodded to encourage him to continue.

"You see, I'm a historian. I was working on a breakthrough dig in West Turkey with a team of excavationists." He took a thoughtful bite from his roll before continuing. "But the site was raided."

_On second thoughts, I like where this is going_, Lara thought optimistically. "Raided?"

"One morning when I arrived at the site, those who had slept there overnight were all shot. There were machine gun shells littering the ground, and foot prints everywhere."

Lara leaned forward. "Was anything taken?"

Ezguk abandoned his roll and sipped from an opaque glass that had been on the table. "There was absolutely nothing left. Whoever it was mounted explosives at the entrance and sealed the site as well."

"And what did Leighton say you'd need my help for?"

"Well, we had uncovered some fascinating remains, which were stolen, of course. But we'd hardly scratched the surface. What I saw gives me reason to believe the fabled 'City of Angels' is down there, under the rock."

"City of Angels..." Lara repeated to herself, wondering where she'd heard that term used before. Eckhart would have known if he hadn't retrieved everything from Turkey, wouldn't he? He'd been around for however many years, enough to come by the full story. "Did anyone else know of your suspicions?"

"The people working with me, all of whom were shot. Well, except Leighton of course, he said he thought he knew who might have done it and went after them." Lara raised an eyebrow, wondering why Ezguk hadn't suspected Kurtis of being part of the raiding party, as the sole survivor. Lara certainly would have.

"So, if I do go down there and find this city, what would you have me do then?"

Just at that moment, the housekeeper bustled into the conservatory with a tray of food. Unlike Ezguk, the housekeeper most certainly was Turkish. She said one or two things to Ezguk in Turkish as she lay out their tea on the table, smiling warmly at Lara. Lara returned the smile, especially after she'd seen the roast chicken with three vedge on her plate. Despite her stomach still smarting from her breakfast-go-lunch on the bus, Lara couldn't resist the familiar cooking.

"My housekeeper tells me she's made one of the guest bedrooms for you, if you wish." He smiled a little mischievously. "And don't worry Ms. Croft, Leighton told me about your penchant for privacy. The door is lockable from the inside. Just try not to break anything, if that's possible!" His eyes were laughing, and Lara pursed her lips. She wondered exactly what else Kurtis had told Ezguk about her.

"Do you have Leighton's telephone number, please? I have some things to... discuss with him."

Ezguk nodded in apology before conferring with his housekeeper for a moment in Turkish as she stood waiting for direction in the doorway. It seemed odd, listening to what she supposed was perfect Turkish coming from the mouth of a British aristocrat.

After a moment, Ezguk returned his attention to Lara. "He left his mobile phone in his room, it's been ringing all day. But he's usually back later in the evening. You can speak with him then."

_So, he's staying here too_, Lara noted. _But I wonder what he's doing running around all day in Istanbul._ She shook her head, placing a baby carrot inside her mouth with her fork. _It's one thing to trust someone under dire circumstances, but that man is perpetually up to something._

Ezguk showed Lara to her guest room to give her the opportunity to catch up on some sleep, and also to point out he'd taken the liberty of giving her the room adjacent to his immense collection historical books. However, just at this point, Lara was far more interested in the fact that her ensuite had a bathtub the size of a spa, and made a point of audibly locking her door. Ezguk was chivalrous to be sure, but Lara didn't want to give him any false ideas about his rustic charm working its way into her affections.

It was actually lucky that the bathtub had a custom groove to lie in that kept her effortlessly upright, because she accidentally fell asleep soon after she'd turned the water off. It must have been at least a couple of hours before she woke up as well, as by the time her eyes pried themselves open, she was shivering and the water was tepid. She pulled herself out of the tub to dry off, and slipped into her pyjamas.

There certainly was something about Ezguk he wasn't telling her. All this name-changing was suspicious.

Looking at the clock, she recalled Ezguk showing her past the master bedroom on her way to the guest room, and wondered where he would be now. Unlocking the door and pushing it open slightly, she listened for sounds of movement. Her ears rewarded her with the sound of loud and even snoring from down the hallway.

A grin spread across her face.

Slipping out into the corridor, she looked both ways prudently, then tiptoed towards the snoring. Silently thanking the architect for his work on making the floors solid stone rather than telltale floorboards, she edged along the last part of the wall, and checked the handle of the door. It moved easily, and she slunk inside.

The master bedroom was meticulously clean, shelves covered in antique knick-knacks arranged either by size or colour. Lara identified a few of them, marvelling at his collection, before returning to the matter at hand.

Ezguk was sound asleep, his mouth hanging open and his head tilted back slightly as he snored peacefully. He was conveniently facing the far wall, which had nothing of interest to her against it.

She glanced around, her eyes falling on his desk over the other side of the massive room. On the desk were a closed black laptop, some notes, frustratingly in Turkish, and his wallet. She opened it gingerly, careful to not rattle coins or tear any receipts.

Inside she found a gold MasterCard, sporting the name 'Tobias Ezguk', some library cards, and a small card with his name and a strange symbol on it. On the back of the card was a magnetic strip, well used. She presumed this was a keycard, and went to tuck it into her pocket, when she felt something blocking the card's passage.

"Past your bedtime, Lara," a man's voice whispered in her ear.

Beyond them, Ezguk continued to snore.

The hand blocking her pocket took the keycard from her, and a hand around the other side of her opened his wallet and replaced the card, fastening the stud and returning the wallet to the table. The front of her thighs pressed against the desk, she was trapped; if she went to move, the desk would, and that would certainly wake Ezguk.

"Kurtis," she breathed.

"Sleep well?" he asked her quietly, not allowing her to move. Fingers gently brushed hair away from the ear his lips were closest to. She shivered.

"How...?"

"Farsight," he snickered into her neck, his breath tickling her ear.

She narrowed her eyes, "You're lucky I was having a bubble-bath."

"Funny, not was I was thinking," he moved away from her slightly, allowing her to turn around. She briefly considered nailing him in the groin for creeping up on her, but decided the pleasure of sinking him to the ground wouldn't make up for the lost alliance with Ezguk.

He had that infuriating half-smile on his face as he gestured for her to follow him, whispering, "Don't worry about the swipe-card, I've skimmed the code already. Come on, we have work to do."

Dumbfounded, she complied.

Kurtis closed the door to her guestroom carefully behind them, locking the bolt more as a symbolic gesture than any real difference it would make to the acoustics outside the room. He stood by the door listening for a second, then turned to lean his back against it, crossing his arms.

"My doorbell wasn't working?" Lara asked sarcastically, referring to his unexpected visit to her mansion.

"Not my style," he shrugged dismissively. "Besides, I left a note."

_Aha! The opening I've been waiting for_, Lara grinned inwardly. "Oh, is that what it was?" She raised an eyebrow. "I had to hire someone to decode it."

"Yeah, yeah, you'll take away my pen license, I know," he grinned at her. "Anyway, how you doing?" His voice had that familiar gentle edge, a tonal variation that implied genuine caring. Lara considered answering at length, but changed her mind. For all she knew, he could just be manipulating her; goodness knows he was good at it.

Instead, she crossed her own arms in front of her chest, leaning her weight onto one foot. "I'm doing fine, _Leighton_," she emphasized his alias, demanding explanation.

"No, it's Kurtis," he reassured her, "but I never travel or work on my own passport, too dangerous. I need to protect myself. Some of my jobs are a little... questionable."

"So I have to call you Leighton in front of everyone, then?" He nodded. "I like Kurtis better," she told him, a twinkle in her eye. "Do you mind if I change out of these?" she gestured to her pyjamas.

"Not at all," he answered, still grinning. "You've got sportswear underneath anyhow."

Lara stared at him accusingly for a moment, before proceeding to retrieve her jeans from the opposite side of the bed. Discarding her pyjama pants, she wriggled her jeans under her long pyjama top, asking, "So what about you? What happened?"

"The long version or the short version?"

"Didn't you say we had work to do? The short version should suffice," she told him as she zipped her fly up and proceeded to search for her sleeveless black top.

"Oh, you know. Giant ugly mutant, skinny flying thing with a female's dedication to getting the last word in..." He winked.

"Kurtis." She stopped midway through finding her top to give him a look.

"Okay, okay." He grinned at her. "Boaz was a pushover. But I accidentally didn't kill her properly and she gave me one. Anyway, I woke up in a hospital with tubes poking from everywhere. Some reporter was telling me in bad English I was the victim of a mafia stabbing, and that they'd found me bleeding my guts out in the snow by Strahov. Lucky I have travel insurance."

Lara located her top pulled it over her head. "She gave you one?"

"Yeah. This one." He lifted his signature t-shirt and the long sleeved top underneath to the middle of his chest. The scar was almost exactly in the centre of his torso, and not yet perfectly healed. She could see stitches had only recently been safely removed from the wound, which still looked a little angry. Inadvertently, her eyes wandered from his scar over his exposed skin. She found her eyes following his musculature, which was softened by a light layer of fat, and over the dowdy hair that encircled his navel and trailed down toward his belt. Just as she was chastising herself for her indiscretion, he pushed off the door with his foot and turned away from her. Crossing his hands at his stomach, he lifted his shirt at the back to display a similar wound, albeit longer and slightly to the left.

"Kurtis, ouch!" Lara winced, realizing even a centimetre to the left she would have found his body on the grating. "Lucky she missed your central artery!"

"Lucky? You tell that to my left kidney." He pulled his shirt down and turned back toward the room again. "It's floating in a jar somewhere in Prague."

"Does it hurt?" she asked gingerly, looking toward his scar through his clothes.

"Do you expect me to answer that truthfully?" She said nothing, unable to read him. He watched her for a moment, perhaps considering his next answer, before looking down. "I'm not up to anything too physical at the moment, I'm not even supposed to be driving."

Suddenly, everything fit into place. "So you didn't just want my company after all," she teased. "Okay, what do I need to do?"

"Put your boots on. Does it normally take you this long to get dressed?"

Lara didn't give him the pleasure of responding, lacing the offending items onto her feet, and riffling through her bag for one of her dual pistols. She packed her backpack with some spare ammo just in case, and a few bandages. Just before she zipped her carrier luggage closed, she caught sight of a crushed box half-submerged in her anorak. Taking it out and turning it over in her hands for a moment, she slung the backpack over her shoulder and joined Kurtis by the door. Without saying anything, she put the packet in his hands.

He glanced down, curiosity glinting through his favourite neutral expression. "Painkillers?"

"They're paracetamol-based," she told him simply. Without waiting for his reply, she turned the door handle, and jerked the door open so it slammed into his boot. If they were leaving through the front door, there would be no need for them to be quiet about it.

"Excuse me," she said playfully, putting on her signature sunglasses and looking at him over the rims. His mouth twitched, hinting at a smile, as he obliged.

Outside, Kurtis introduced her to the release button on the gate, which was timed at night for security reasons. She held it down for him to walk smoothly and carefully through the gate, and made a mad dash for the gate herself once he was through.

He'd left his motorcycle near the gate; Lara wondered how it managed to avoid being hot-wired. Behind him, Lara watched his hand appear behind him and extract two jingling keys from his waist-pack.

"Hop on," he instructed her.

Lara dubiously eyed the size of the seat. "I'll walk, thank you."

He watched her for a moment. "Fine." Extracting a worn map from his pouch, he explained to her where they were headed. "That's the University there. There's a security guard employed, but he's about a hundred pounds overweight and can't aim a pistol to save himself. Don't waste your ammo on him." She nodded. "I'll meet you at the entrance to the dome-shaped building. It's an exaggerated salute to Kurdish history... but looks like something totally different. You'll see what I mean."

He nodded once at her, and then swung a leg over to straddle his bike. Twisting the key, he revved once then engaged, fishtailing for a few metres and leaving an ugly line on the road.

Lara watched his bike shoot off into the distance, pressing her lips together. _Why do men feel compelled to do that_, she wondered. _As_ _if burnouts are going to attract anyone except a police officer._

Looking forward to the opportunity to stretch her legs a little (not that they particularly needed stretching, she thought as she admired herself walking by in the reflection of a shop window), she strode in the direction the map had indicated. Apart from the odd gathering of drunken teenagers, the streets were quiet and empty. Cars parked on the side of the road were all either falling apart or missing paint; occasionally she would see a more expensive model parked outside a standalone house. She passed one that was vandalized: "HAiN" sprayed in big burgundy letters across the windshield, and an antique-style axe protruding from the centre of the bonnet. Artistic vandals, Lara admitted, appraising their work on the way past.

She got lost once or twice, needing to check the map for direction, but eventually came across a sign pointing her down a laneway toward the University car park.

The air was still, and the road was unlit. Shops and agencies from the main roads backed onto the lane, and there were various items of hard rubbish littering the pavement beside dumpsters. Lara unthreaded one of her arms out of her backpack and swung it round to her front, extracting her pistol and checking it for ammo. Fastening her backpack and replacing it behind her, she tucked the nose of her gun into her belt beside a hip, just in case.

Her instincts were spot on. A second later, someone fell out of a screen door, followed by two youths. Lara threw herself into the shadow of a nearby dumpster, and sank into a crouch. Ignoring her gun digging uncomfortably into her stomach, she peeked around the corner.

The man on the ground was middle-aged, wrinkled from a life of labour, and bleeding from the nose. The two standing were clothed in black, with a long balaclava-style scarf wrapped around either of their heads and tied like a low ponytail behind them. One of them was rather comically shorter than the other. Robbers? Lara wondered, watching the taller one swing a hard kick into the ribs of their victim, who already had blood on his cream-coloured pants. However, Lara suspected the blood wasn't his; it had the fluorescent, diluted appearance of the preservatives used in bought meat.

As soon as the shorter assailant spoke, Lara realized the reason for being much shorter was that she was actually a woman. Speaking no Turkish, Lara made what she could of the conversation. The shopkeeper was pleading, trying to justify something, and the two youths weren't having it, the woman in particular. She had a thick leather belt with a steel buckle that she would periodically beat him around the head with, while the other assailant stood by and watched.

Eventually, the shopkeeper appeared to give him, and tell them something else; which resulted in a pause in the beatings while the attackers were thick in discussion. Eventually, the woman turned back to their victim, and said one or two words to him before nodding to the man, who pulled a muted 9mm out of his coat and pointed it toward the shopkeeper.

Two bullets silenced the man, and he immediately flopped against the ground.

The two figures in black begun to rush toward the end of the street Lara had come from. She pressed her back firmly against the bin, moving back into the shadow, her hand fingering the grip of her own 9mm. However, they didn't slow at all as they moved past her. While they were walking in the other direction, she edged around the bin to the other side, just in case they opted to turn around. They rounded the corner into the main street, and removed their scarves. It was too far away for her to see the details of their faces, but the man had peroxided hair with inch-long black roots. Classy, she thought sarcastically.

She checked the door, which had locked shut behind them, then turned toward the body. A pool of blood from behind his head was beginning to make its way toward the drain. Lara cringed; headshots were something she weren't fond of, and didn't practice if she could avoid it. Searching his pockets, she found a packet of cigarettes, which she promptly tossed in the drain with the blood, and some keys.

Then, she was presented with a dilemma. She could follow the attackers if she hurried, or she could go into the man's shop. If she wanted to go into the shop she would have to do so quickly, as soon someone would alert the police and shop would be sealed off. On the other hand, Kurtis would already be waiting for her at the University.

That man needs to give me his mobile phone number, she told herself resolutely, as she tried a series of keys at the door of the shop. The door was stiff, and even with the key in, she needed to lean her weight onto it open it enough for her to pass through. Inside, she found herself in a storeroom, with a door to a walk-in refrigerator on one wall, and a desk on the other. She rifled through the paperwork, finding nothing in English, and nothing of interest in any of the drawers, either. The shop front was predictably a Butchery, with the display window allowing people from the street to see in. Deciding there was too much danger of being seen if she went into the shop front, she instead opted to ascend a steep flight of stairs into his private residence.

On one of the central stairs, someone had discarded a pink teddy bear. Lara picked it up, feeling a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. At the top of the staircase hung a shoe-bag, with little pockets for people to replace the shoes they were wearing with slippers. She noticed there were two pairs of slippers missing, and two pairs of children's shoes in their place.

Stepping very carefully along the hallway, she found a room with an open door and an empty bed. Inside, on the bedside table, she could see a wallet thick with cards and paper goods. Bingo, she thought, and slipped the wallet into her bag for later investigation.

On the door of the room opposite, there was a piece of paper fixed to the woodwork, with a warning sign on it, and some childish handwriting. She pushed the door slightly, and leaned her head in. An old cast iron bunk bed leaned against the wall, with two children, a boy and a girl, sleeping peacefully thereon.

Lara breathed out at length. There was no use waking the children now; they were old enough to identify her and it would be cruel to deny them their last pleasant dreams. Lara bitterly remembered the night she had heard the news about her own father, and felt some empathy for the new orphans.

Putting the thought out of her mind for now, she descended the stairs and exited back into the laneway, locking the door behind her. There would be no use allowing other intruders into the house before the police came, so she tossed the keys into the dumpster she had been hiding behind.

Continuing in the direction she had originally been travelling in, she wondered who the cold-hearted murderers were. Who would kill a sole father needlessly? It occurred to her that she had probably created some orphans herself, during her travels. But not on purpose, she assured herself. Sometimes it was either kill or be killed.

Give me creatures and monsters any day, she decided. When you kill a person, you're ruining countless other lives.

The entrance to the car park was locked, which caused only a minor delay. Lara vaulted cleanly over the wall to the left, and dropped down onto the smooth concrete. There were a few cars still parked there for the night; Lara ignored them and headed down the ramps.

The dome building was, as Kurtis had described, something else. It was a round structure rising from the ground with no windows, just covered in gilded paintwork. Poking out of the top of the building was a button-like watchtower. Lara stood for a moment, eyebrows raised. A man designed that, she decided, cringing a little. A very lonely, frustrated man.

Kurtis was clearly locatable under the arch by the front door, not making any mild attempt to be hidden. He was also smoking.

As she jogged up to him, he inhaled one last drag, and then flicked the rest of the cigarette into the foliage. We'll fix that, Lara thought resolutely, planning to flush the packet down the toilet back at Ezguk's.

"Get lost?" he asked her, only a hit of frustration showing in his voice.

"Got delayed, actually," she corrected him. "I witnessed a murder."

"I committed one," he said matter-of-factly. "But I still got here on time." He ferreted around in his waist-back, and produced a blank credit card, running the magnetic strip through the security terminus. As the door slid open, he answered Lara's questioning look with, "The security guard accidentally fell down some stairs."

Checking one last time behind them, Lara followed him into the dome.

"Kurtis, there are security cameras in here." Lara stopped pointedly and stared up into the lens of one. It looked to be a fairly obsolete model, perhaps six or seven years old, and had spider webs stretching between its body and the supports. There also appeared to be no data cabling, indicating these cameras weren't connected to a security monitor.

"How's your aim?" Kurtis was facing away from her, but she could hear a crisp click as he slid ammo into his Boran X. He held the gun out toward the camera and flicked a switch with his thumb, causing a thin red line cut through the musty air. He pulled the trigger once, and the camera combusted, shards of plastic falling to the floor.

"A laser sight," she mocked him, gesturing toward the far end of the corridor, "I can do that one without cheating." She pulled the 9mm from her belt and held it at arms' length, closing one eye. Manoeuvring the gun so that the camera sat directly in the centre of the nose, she squeezed twice. The sound of something shattering rewarded her effort as she lowered her arm, looking smugly over her shoulder at him.

"Impressive," he admitted. "But timely."

She shrugged, tucking her pistol back in the edge of her jeans. "So what are we doing here, anyway?"

"Our friend Tobias has been keeping secrets," Kurtis said a tad sarcastically, and began walking down the corridor toward the remains of the second security camera.

"Yes," Lara remembered the Turkish name and the English accent, "he certainly has." She fell in behind him, matching his pace. "What are you expecting to find here?"

It was clear enough why they were at the university; Ezguk had mentioned something about being a historian, and in Lara's experience historians could either be found at universities, or on the payroll of profiteering corporations.

"Answers," he said cryptically, glancing over his shoulder at her. "And I can't turn on his computer from down here."

Lara felt a twinge of irritation. She certainly hadn't expected to be dragged across the planet to accompany Kurtis on some personal mission of his, and there was definitely nowhere dangerous enough here that in his condition he wouldn't be able to reach himself. She could be tailing those two attackers right now and investigating why they shot a helpless father for information. She watched his heels in front of her, wondering what had possessed her to rush to Turkey without a second thought.

Although, aside from the complication of Kurtis, she had to admit to herself that she really was looking forward to some good old-fashioned action offered by Ezguk in his description of the ruins. The sooner she got out of this polluted city and down into them, the better.

The lift was surprisingly modern compared with much of the other technology in the building, and was equipped with a dome camera in the corner. Lara had hardly laid eyes on the camera before it spontaneously combusted, showering the pair with plastic. She looked from the flickering stump of wires to Kurtis, who was wearing a markedly smug expression.

"Beat that," he snickered, pressing the number '5' on the control panel.

_Show-off_, Lara thought sourly, conveniently forgetting that she had done similarly on the ground floor. She didn't dignify him with a response, instead pretending to be engrossed with the graffiti inside the lift. It was surprisingly interesting for being in a completely incomprehensible language; someone had asked a question in whiteout, and everyone else had responded with advice in various different mediums. Two rather lewd diagrams, probably added by an aspiring physician, accompanied one particularly long entry. She wondered with amusement if the advice had been followed. She was considering making some comment about the graffiti to Kurtis, when she had an unexpected and brief visualization of him suggesting they check the integrity of the advice. She froze, unable to believe herself. _Dangerous ground_, Lara, she told herself, turning away from the graffiti. _You don't know the first thing about this man: not even his real name._

The lift announced their arrival on the 5th floor with a recorded message reciting a list of something, probably faculties and departments.

The fifth floor was less spacious than the first, being higher in the dome, and was decked out and roped off like a museum. Surprisingly, the carpet on the floors was still long and soft, indicating this floor didn't suffer frequent traffic. In the moderate light of the lift display, she could see a number of items positioned along the walls in glass casing; nineteenth century garments, some diaries and a vintage diving suit, but Lara found nothing interesting about modern history.

As they exited the lift, both pairs of eyes went to straight to the ceiling. Despite the semi-precious historical items this floor housed, they didn't find a single camera. Not worth protecting anyway, Lara thought ostentatiously, my home has more antiques in it than this place.

Kurtis set off in a determined direction, clearly expecting Lara to follow. She rather fancied the idea of telling him she wasn't anyone's henchman and storming off, but her heart wasn't in it. Besides, she was rather curious about what they would find in Ezguk's office, and wasn't particularly keen to hear about the contents second-hand.

It was reasonably dark out of the lift display lighting; the only light in the corridor was a green fire-exit sign at the far end.

Kurtis stopped at a card reader, and tried the swipe card. It flashed a little red light at him, and beeped twice. "What?!" He barked incredulously, and tried again to no avail. He was raising his arm to blast the door when Lara reached him. She hurriedly halted him by placing a hand on his forearm, and with the other leant forward to try the door. The handle let, and the door opened a fraction.

"Now who wants to destroy things?" she asked dryly, watching his disbelieving expression fade into irritation.

"It'll be your reputation if you leave those prints on the handle," he pointed out.

"Well, as long as you don't leave any evidence we were in here, no one's going to check, are they?" Lara argued, one hand on her hip, "Speaking of which, what's our alibi tonight?"

He shrugged. "I figured we could show up at a nightclub later and make ourselves known to a few people."

"I'm not really dressed for a nightclub." She looked down at her jeans, and then critically at his signature t-shirt. "And you look like a teenager who's wandered out of a death rock concert."

"Ouch," he looked genuinely hurt, but Lara only believed him for a moment. "Fine, a bar then."

"Sounds good. I'm going to need a drink after working in tandem with you," she said truthfully, but winked at him anyway. Competing with him was mentally exhausting. She pushed the door open and entered, aware of his presence behind her. Stopping to glance around the room, she obstructed his passage, and he had to push past her. It would have been a completely routine movement, had he not extended his fingers slightly to brush along the back of her hand. His touch electrified her skin, and brought a blush to her cheeks. She was thankful for the dark.

Why does he have to be so bloody gentle? She thought violently to herself, putting her hands to her cheeks to cool them. She just couldn't understand his behaviour - on the one hand he was aloof, on the other, tender and sensitive. _He's done you over before_, Lara, she told herself, wondering if she was misinterpreting him. _Don't let him do it again!_

The light of the screen threw extra detail around the room, and Lara made out a replica of Huller's Suffering on the wall, plus some photos of a young girl at various stages of childhood. While Kurtis was trying passwords on the computer, she walked closer to the wall, examining the photos at closer range. The girl had bright red hair, freckles and a brilliant smile, an exact duplication of Ezguk's features. She ran her eyes across a series of similar photos, until she reached one where the girl was on the knee of a heavily pregnant young woman. Intrigued, she pulled the photo off the wall to examine it more closely. In the background were rich green hills and oak trees; this photo was not taken in Turkey. Turning the photo over, she found a date inked on the back, 24/12/82. Where were they now, though? She couldn't remember seeing any trace whatsoever of children at Ezguk's house, and she remembered the silhouette of him sleeping alone in the master bedroom.

"Kurtis, look at this." She put a hand on his shoulder as he turned sharply, clearly frustrated by his efforts on the computer. He tilted his head a little to appraise it. "Nice. A sister?"

Lara hadn't thought of that, but it seemed unlikely that he would have so many photos of his niece on the wall. "Maybe," she said vaguely, replacing the photo on the wall and smoothing down the sticky tape. She stood back and looked at them, hoping to find some other detail she had missed.

"I'm going to shoot this damned machine in a second," Kurtis fumed, exasperatingly clicking the 'OK' button as the computer beeped incessantly.

She ignored him, scanning the rest of the walls for further information. She was rewarded with a photocopy of a new article from The Times, with a picture attached. The picture was a profile of the girl from his photos, dressed in a suit and posing over an office table, smiling triumphantly. The headline read, "In the Wright direction," and discussed the at length the breakthroughs the woman had made in boosting staff moral in her company. What interested Lara, though, was the woman's name, Kimberly Wright.

"Kurtis-" She winced as he hissed a string of expletives under his breath. "Try 'Kimberly', will you?"

"What?" He jerked his head toward her as if he hadn't heard her properly, then gave her a sceptical look and tapped in the word into the keyboard.

There was a brief moment of silence, before the windows XP welcome music played from the speakers and the desktop graphics appeared.

He looked sideways at her, disbelieving. "...and I thought I was the psychic one here." She smiled warmly at him as he ran his hands through his hair and relaxed his shoulders, turning the chair sideways to sit in it. "I hate computers," he explained as he double-clicked on the 'my computer' icon and swung his legs under the desk.

"Seems Ezguk has a past he's no longer part of," she observed, and then turned away from the article to leaning forward and look over Kurtis' shoulder.

Taking a square envelope from his belt, he opened the disk drive and dropped a gold CD into the plate, nudging it closed. "You better have a burner," he threatened the computer as he dragged the contents of the 'My Documents' folder into empty D:\ drive window. Fortunately, a progress window popped up, and the D:\ light flickered.

He leaned back, breathing out at length. "Man... that was stressful."

Lara's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Actually, I found it quite entertaining."

Their eyes met for a moment, and she felt her pulse pick up, and he said in mock sadness, "Is that what I am to you, entertainment?" He looked pointedly to a hand on his shoulder she hadn't even realized she had put there. She withdrew it sharply; then cursed herself for being so obvious. _He's messing with you..._ Her brain screamed, but she couldn't help but hit the ball back to him. "Perhaps. What would you like to be to me?"

He rose slowly, bringing himself eye to eye with her. Her heart began to pound violently against her ribcage as he searched her face, completely neutral of any expression. Fingertips traced up her forearms, so lightly they barely brushed more than her hair.

Just then, the computer played a chord, and ejected the completed CD. He flashed his smug half-smile at her as he turned back to the computer, leaving her standing stiffly behind him. She exhaled slowly, starved of his magnetic attention, and completely shocked by what might have happened.

Meanwhile, Kurtis slipped the CD back into the envelope and tucked it smoothly into his waist pack, then closed the windows and selected the 'shut down' icon. The light faded from the screen, leaving them in near darkness again. He walked past her, almost as if she wasn't even there anymore.

Lara remained motionless, still shell-shocked by the unexpected turn of events and the following anti-climax. What exactly just happened there? Kurtis had certainly looked ready to explore the tension between them several seconds ago; but then, it was the same expression he had worn at the Louvre. With dismay she realized she had absolutely no idea what was going on inside his head, and no way of finding out without asking him. His expressions were as usually as unreadable as they were unchanging.

The door shut, and she heard a double beep.

Snapping to reality, she rushed to the door, and wrangled the handle. It stuck, and Kurtis' face appeared in the window, smirking. Her heart raced again, and she panicked, her eyes darting all over the shadowy room searching for an alternate exit.

"Don't you dare!" she hissed, about to risk her skin by putting a fist through the glass window on the door.

Instead, she fell through the door as he opened it, jarring her wrist as she landed on her side. Kurtis' face donned a rare look of surprise, and then he began to laugh.

Her pride smarting more than her wrist, she got to her hands and knees and then stood away from him. Refusing to look in his direction, she marched toward the lift, hearing him shut the door behind her. She halted in front of the double doors, hurriedly pressing the down arrow, mentally urging the lift to open. When it didn't, she was taken aback, momentarily forgetting her infuriation.

Kurtis caught up with her, catching her hand and turning her toward him, "Lara, I was just joking. I didn't know you'd-"

"Kurtis, someone else is in the building!" She interrupted him, as much as she wanted to hear his justification for embarrassing her.

"What?!" He shook his head, his hand dropping from her. "What are you talking about?!"

"Lifts only change floors when they're requested at a different one!" His eyes searched hers as he processed her explanation.

They looked from each other to the number display above the door, which lit up number 1, then number 2.

"Uh oh..." Kurtis' muscles tensed, and he looked wildly around them.

Lara followed suite, her eyes falling on the display cases. They were placed against the wall, but because the building was dome shaped, behind the base of each was a barely visible crawl space, cast into shadow by the items on display. "There, quick!" She pointed him toward the case with the Mary-Antoinette-style evening dress, as she dashed behind the wrought-iron diving suit.

She could hear Kurtis breathing heavily as they crouched in oppressive silence for a few seconds. She withdrew her pistol from her jeans and removed the safety lock, using her free hand to brace herself against the floor. Beside her, Kurtis was spinning the quick load on his ammo clip to loosen it.

The lift announced its arrival at the fifth floor, and the door slid open.

No sooner had the doors swept open, than several members of an assault squad poured out into the corridor, their laser sights flashing everywhere like cheap nightclub lights. AK47s at the ready, the men spread out, so perfectly in sequence that Lara realized they weren't hit men - they were professionals from a SWAT team.

She looked toward Kurtis, who was sinking backwards from one who was getting dangerously close to his hiding place. If they had been in full light, there would have been no hope him remaining hidden. As it was, the gunman was none the wiser.

As she was lining up her gun for a clear shot should the squad member catch site of Kurtis, someone else stepped out of the lift.

A woman perhaps in her mid-thirties surveyed the situation, a hand on her hip parting her black trench coat. Blonde hair swept into a bun accentuated her sharp chin and aggressive features, and the noses of heavy leather boots peeked from under her tailored pants. "347, 815, go south. One of you go up the fire escape, the other go down. Try every single door on the way. You two," she gestured to the men closest to Kurtis, "do the same on the to the north. If you find him, don't talk, just shoot."

Not a native German, Lara thought, taking a second to process her thick accent. Why was she speaking in German rather than whatever was her own native language?

By the looks of things Kurtis had no idea what was going on; not that she'd actually expected a man like him to speak any other languages. Which would also mean he didn't know they were looking for him. She would need to find some way of communicating that to him at some point, but for now she had other priorities.

Their only advantage was that the SWAT team didn't know they were looking for two people, not one. They jogged down opposite corridors, the dull sound of their footsteps on the carpet fading into silence.

The woman stood there, poised, as if listening for something. Lara felt uneasy suddenly, but couldn't identify the source of her discomfort.

Across the wall from her, Kurtis was trying very hard to muffle laboured breathing, his eyes jammed closed. He doesn't look very well, she realized, perhaps he really isn't up to this.

Behind the woman, the lift doors closed, and the display showed it descending to the ground floor again. This is getting complicated, Lara thought, very slowly releasing her gun cartridge and feeling how many bullets she had left.

Before she had the opportunity to made any further appraisal of the situation, there was a flash down the hallway they had been in a moment before, followed by a torrent of peppered shooting.

The woman snapped out of her trance, rushing towards the sounds.

The lift still at the ground floor, Lara slid out of her hiding space towards Kurtis, who was still concentrating on his breathing. Grabbing his shoulder, she used her weight as a brace to drag him sideways, whispering, "Come on, we've got to get out of here!"

He jerked suddenly, throwing his head back and slamming it against the wall. Surprised, Lara lost grip of him and fell backwards onto her hip, groaning. He looked up at her vacantly through heavy-lidded eyes; as if he had absolutely no idea what she was doing there. Rather than address the issue now, she repeated urgently, "Quick, they're up the corridor!"

Without waiting for him to get his bearings, Lara stood, pulling him up with her and looking frantically around them.

The display above the lift illuminated number 2.

Rather than hang around hoping for a solution, she slung his weight over her shoulder, and clumsily staggered toward the north corridor, the opposite corridor to where the woman had dashed down.

"Sorry about this," she told semi-conscious Kurtis as they arrived in front of the closest door, reaching behind him and patting his pants until she felt his waist-pack. Slipping her fingers inside, she rummaged around until she found the crisp edge of a credit card. Whipping it out, she held it close to her face in the darkness, trying to determine if it was the correct one. Worth a try, she thought, her hand finding the reader and fitting the card through it. A single beep, and the door clicked. Brilliant! She exhaled with relief, toppling them both through it.

She fell slightly to the side of him, quickly darting up to flick the lock and close the blinds. On his stomach, Kurtis was moving slightly, groaning. The light from the UV heater in a tropical fish tank provided her plenty to operate by.

As she was quickly replacing his card, the corner of the CD envelope pointed up above the rest of his junk. _It'll be no good with you if you're caught_, she thought silently to him, and wriggled it out of his pack to place it in her own.

"I hate you."

She looked down at him, surprised by his sudden lucidity. "Well, if you stop lying there moaning and get up, you can try to take it back from me," she urged, hearing the lift arriving at the fifth floor.

"I would, but you're on my thighs."

Good point. Lara swung a knee over him to crouch by his side.

He rolled over lethargically, putting a hand first to his head, then to his stomach, grimacing. She was already looking up, her eyes toward on a tiny vent in the corner of the room. She might be able to squeeze through it, her hips permitting; but with those shoulders he never would be able to. Not an option, she said firmly to the niggling selfish voice in her head.

He followed her line of sight. "You should just go."

She snorted. "Always the hero," she glanced back at him, her voice oozing with sarcasm, "But we tried that once before, remember? Now, come on, you're too heavy for me to carry any further!" She had no intention of leaving him here, but if the SWAT team kicked down this door as they could any instant, they would both be dead.

She stood, putting her ear to the door as the squad barked at each other in German, trying to determine what they were saying to each other. The sound was too muffled.

A thought occurred to her. "How many are out there?"

"Jeez, give me a second!" He cringed, painfully pulling himself to his feet. She watched him impatiently, and he rolled his eyes, harshly exhaling. "Fine!" Steadying himself with a hand on the bookcase, he reached out with the other, and closed his eyes. She watched his face, briefly captivated by flickering eyelids and the parted lips. She wondered if he would notice if anyone touched them.

She snapped to reality as he jerked backwards, a short cry of shock forced out of his lungs. In a second, she was supporting him.

"Are you okay? What happened?" She demanded anxiously, at the same time as he said clearly, "There's fifteen."

He looked blankly at her. "What?"

She felt stupid, remembering now that he had jerked before when she had startled him. "I thought that you were- Never mind."

He put two and two together, smiling. "I'm touched."

"...In the head," she hissed, changing the subject. "There's fifteen, including the ones we saw first?" He nodded. "Can you kill them from in here?" He shook his head. "Are you out of range or something?"

"It doesn't work like that. I just... blast things, really," he explained. "And I need to be able to see them already... With my eyes," he added, for clarification.

"Handy, though," she admitted. Suddenly, something else occurred to her. "Oh, they're after you."

He looked altogether to calm about that for Lara's liking. "Yes, Leighton had a run in with some nasties at the hospital." Hence his early discharge, she thought, remembering his laboured breathing.

"Well Leighton is going to get in big trouble for keeping secrets," she told him. "Right after we solve the little problem of getting out of here alive."

"The south fire exit is our best bet," he predicted. "There's more guys in the north corridor, because they think we're in that direction. The guys in the south are just keeping watch." He drew his Boran X, fiddling with the mute. "Best not use your gun, it's very loud. We'll have everyone in the building on us in seconds."

She sighed, nodding. Despite her martial training, she still hated the feeling of being weaponless.

The regarded each other for a moment, aware of the task they had ahead of them.

"Ready?" she asked him tentatively.

"As I'll ever be," he answered, barely covering his uncertainty with a reassuring grin.

She nodded, flicking the latch and pulling the door open slowly. Between her quick breaths, she listened for sounds outside the door, and heard nothing. Gesturing for him to follow, she slipped out, looking briefly both ways before edging along the wall.

The sound his heavy footsteps behind her was strangely reassuring, and she briefly appreciated having someone to work with. _Don't get too attached to him_, the sceptical part of her warned, _you know that he's keeping at least a couple of important details from you. Yes_, she replied, entering into an argument with herself, _but I'm also keeping one or two things from him_.

"Watch out!" he hissed into her ear as she was distracted, a bullet whisking past her temple. She threw herself into a crawl belatedly, watching a man fall out of the shadows ahead of them. He made eye contact with her, pleading, as he gurgled and clutched uselessly at his opened throat. They're easier to kill when they wear masks, she decided as she clambered to her feet with the help of a strong hand.

"Thanks," she acknowledged as they continued along the corridor. She eyed the AK47 strapped to the dying gunman as they passed him, but knew that by the time she needed to use it she would be riddled with bullets anyway. With so many gunmen, stealth was their only option.

An arrow pointed to the fire exit around a corner, and light was coming from an open door.

They stopped, and Lara sank against the wall, checking around the corner. Facing away from them, a member of the SWAT team was drinking from a flask of water. Too easy, Lara grinned, looking back to Kurtis and tapping her nose.

Treading carefully, Lara approached the taller man, hyper aware of every nuance of sound he was making. If she botched this up, they would be in a lot of trouble. She waited until he tilted the flask up to empty the contents into his mouth, then launched herself at him. Mouth full of water, he inhaled with surprise, and then found himself unable to yell as she wrapped an elbow around his neck and jerked it back toward her.

A satisfying click, and she let his body fall to the floor.

Kurtis nodded in appreciation. "Okay, there's only four more down this end."

The fire exit was propped open; they looked at each other incredulously, and walked easily through it. In contrast to the dark corridors, the fire exit was well lit with fluorescent bars glowing above every door. The stairs were stark concrete with thick metal railings, descending around a rectangular centre that allowed them to see all the way to the floor five stories below. Peeking over the railing, she could see at least two men leaning against the first flight of stairs, and could hear the conversation they were having in German echoing off the flat walls.

"A little help...?" she whispered to Kurtis, who nodded.

Stretching his palms out, he tilted his head back, his lips parting again as he sighed almost with release. I could get used to this, Lara thought impishly, having nothing else to do while she waited for the verdict. Then, she recalled with growing alarm his reaction to being returned to his body, and wished they had both thought of that earlier. Any unrestrained noise now would alert the men below, as the acoustics in the stairwell were very sensitive.

Darting on her tiptoes behind him, she pulled his head back onto her shoulder and pressed her hand against his mouth. Ignoring the wetness of his lips and the crisp prickle of his stubble against her wrist, she held him firmly as he jolted backwards and breathed into her palm. "It's me, it's me!" she whispered frantically as close to his ear as possible.

He stopped struggling and looked sideways at her for a moment. Then, infuriatingly, he licked her palm. She wrenched her hand away to wipe it, falling back a few steps, fiercely scowling. That irritating smirk on his face, he pressed a finger to his lips, warning her not to yell at him.

_I'll get you later_, she promised herself, thinking of his cigarette packet.

"What's going on?" she mouthed.

"All of them are down there," he breathed, "all four. They all have transmitters, and assault rifles."

That presented rather a problem to them; down was clearly not an option. Lara remembered the smooth gilded paint on outside of the building, and didn't like their chances of being able to climb down it. Frowning in concentration, she bit her lip and tried to remember what was on the outside of the building. Perhaps they could try their luck with a chain of power cords or something, or maybe there was another building behind the dome.

She took the map Kurtis' had given her at Ezguk's house out of her bag, and unfolded it. Locating the university, she examined the dome closely. "What's this?" she whispered, pointing to a shaded area behind the building.

"The lake..." he replied matter-of-factly, then doubled back at her with a sceptical expression on his face.

"Perfect!" she beamed, scrunching up the map and tucking it over her shoulder.

His expression was unreadable, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I might be able to use my Chirugai to get the guards' attention..."

"Don't be silly," she whispered, and was about to address the faults with his version of the plan, when there was shout from down the hallway they had just come from. They both spun around to stare at the doorway, listening for a moment to approaching footsteps and the crackle of radios.

"Too late!" she hissed, and grabbed his wrist, dragging him towards the stairs.

They surged upwards along the wall, only reaching a floor and a half from where they had been when they heard men thundering onto the concrete, and gunfire pinging off the banisters.

He was tiring behind her when she glanced back, and holding his stomach. "Nearly there," she reassured him, her own breath coming faster as they passed the seventh floor. The sound of footsteps was blurred; there were several men after them.

Lara was about to try her luck kicking in the locked door on the ninth floor, when it flew off its hinges and she stepped into thin air. Smiling a brief thanks at him, she stepped over the debris and sprinted down the narrow corridor.

Higher in the dome, it was noticeably shorter than the one on the fifth floor, and she quickly reached the observatory. Jogging up a circular staircase to the lookout, she stopped at the top to catch her breath, which was beginning to sting her throat from effort. She could see the lake from up there; dark with depth, and an unfortunately reasonable distance from the base of the dome.

Kurtis had been some distance behind her, and by the time he was at the lookout, she was already climbing over the railing that faced the lake. "Hurry!" she urged him, gesturing for him to follow her. Downstairs, she could hear the German-speaking woman barking ordered from the hallway.

He looked exceptionally ill, but said nothing as he climbed over the railing with her. Closer to him, she could see how pale he was. "Are you bleeding?" She reached towards his scar. He withdrew from her, pushing her hand away, and shook his head. Not having the time to probe further, she pointed to the lake. "Before start free-falling, you'll need to get a good push off the dome," she directed, "otherwise you'll crumple in a heap on the pavement rather than landing in the water."

He nodded in comprehension, looking apprehensively toward the lake.

_Unlike him_, she observed, remembering his usual willingness to plunge headfirst into danger. Attributing his reluctance to his incomplete recuperation, she put the thought aside, and charged at the edge of the dome. Struggling to keep her balance as the edge dropped away from her, she lowered herself to a sitting position and tried to judge when the best time to push off would be. _You'd better get this right_, she told herself, and realized it would soon be too late to jump at all. Driving her feet into the roof, she propelled herself out into the air.

It was peaceful for a moment, with the temperate air rushing past her cheeks and her jeans whipping against her legs.

As the surface of the water approached, she circled her arms backward and braced herself for impact. It came sooner than she'd expected, and she opened her mouth, groaning with the force.

Her jeans dragged as she struggled towards an invisible surface, and she toyed with idea of removing them before she suddenly found her head above water. Taking a gasping breath, she saw a movement at the corner of her eye. There was a resounding splash, and she was hurled back under water. Kurtis, she realized as she resurfaced, and he'd hit down on his side.

The water splashed with bullets around her as she turned backwards and forwards, searching for his head. When she found nothing, an awful sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. He's been hit! She panicked, and ignored the bullets, dived towards where she thought he had landed. Waving her arms wildly, she felt for something solid, alarmed when her fingers brushed wet hair below her. Grabbing it, she pulled the head into her arms, and kicked upwards.

Her relief was short-lived when she felt him struggling, only able to grab a quick breath before he forced her under again. Resurfacing, she held him up, yelling, "Don't move, you'll make it worse!" If he was bleeding from several bullet wounds, she didn't want his heart pumping blood into the lake.

Completely silent, he stiffened, and she could feel him shaking violently as she guided them under the low bridge. Shock from blood loss, she interpreted, and tried to move faster. The rain of bullets stopped as they drifted under the bridge, and she expected that the SWAT team would at this moment be rushing downstairs to meet them.

She could see a foothold in the rockwork on the other side of the bridge, and she brought them to it. "I know you're weak," she told him, not expecting a reply, "but I can't get us both up there. Put your foot there," she moved it for him, he was shaking too powerfully to move himself. "On the count of three, I'm going to push you. It's just one movement, you'll be safe on the ground, alright?" _Where I can inspect the damage_, she thought pessimistically, not liking the chances of him being conscious much longer. _Don't you die on me now_; she found herself pleading as she positioned herself behind him, not believing the reality she was faced with.

She counted to three, on the last number thrusting him upwards and pushing herself back underwater. She was pleasantly surprised when the splash of his body reentering the water never eventuated, and she kicked over to the edge, pulling herself out.

He was lying on the ground on his back, breathing far too quickly. Her boots squelched as she stepped around him, kneeling down on one knee and patting his face sharply like a paramedic had once done to her. "Stay with me, okay?" He opened his eyes, looking toward her. She smiled calmly at him, trying hide the dread she felt, "Where does it hurt?"

Ignoring her, he made to sit up, but she pushed him back down. "Keep what's left of your blood you in your head, alright?" she explained as she repeated, "Where does it hurt?"

"What?!" he stammered as well as he could between waves of shuddering.

"Where are you bleeding from," she enunciated, retrieving the medical kit from inside her bag.

"What do you mean?" He looked genuinely confused, "Lara, I'm not bleeding!"

She looked at him, not following his meaning. Perhaps he didn't know he was bleeding? He seemed lucid enough, but then, blood loss could do strange things to a person's head. There seemed simply no other reason for his behaviour in the water.

A silence stretched between them, before he turned his head away, taking deep breathes in an attempt to relax. "Lara, I can't swim."

She froze. Everything fit into place; as the shock settled in, she was torn between berating him for not telling her and feeling stupid for blindly assuming he'd been wounded. As a compromise, she said absolutely nothing, lowering the medical kit.

"I should have told you," he said too calmly, the vulnerability evident in his tone. Angled away from her, she had no way to read his expression. _Yes_, she agreed inwardly, but kept her mouth shut. Why hadn't that occurred to her? She recalled his hesitancy about the lake, and what she could now identify as terror in his eyes when they were on the roof of the dome. Yet, he had said nothing to her, probably afraid she would tease him mercilessly. _I would have_, Lara realized, _until I saw that look he gave me up there_. It chilled her, remembering. No one should ever have to feel like that.

"We have to get out of here," she told him, the shouting from the entrance of the dome snapping her back to reality. "Where did you park your motorcycle?"

"It's parked by the Eastern gate. Was locked," Kurtis explained, as Lara pulled the shaken man to his feet.

"Can you walk?" she asked him tentatively, referring to his healing scar.

"Lara, I'm fine," was the too-quick response. She regarded him for a moment, and then decided not to address the matter further. They could discuss it later; when they were dry and clean at Ezguk's.

The wrought iron exploded off its hinges, showering them with flakes of peeling paint and debris as they tore through the path it had been barring. Kurtis' motorcycle was parked carefully outside a nearby student accommodation block, among several other similar bikes of various makes. He'd removed his dust guard, and at some point had wiped the telltale filth from the tyres. All in all, if Lara hadn't known a thing or two about motorcycles, she wouldn't have been able to distinguish his from the others. She was admiring his foresight, when it occurred to her that he had obviously predicted difficulties at the university; or he wouldn't have gone to the trouble of camouflaging his motorcycle.

Kurtis had the keys out of his pocket before they reached the bikes, but Lara stopped him as he went to straddle the motorcycle. "I'll drive," she directed firmly, bracing herself for an argument.

None came, and the keys were simply placed in her outstretched hand. She looked blankly at them for a moment, before Kurtis, who had pushed himself as far back on the seat as he would fit, patted the seat in front of him. The sound of heavy footsteps was audible from the path that led back into the university. They soon they would probably be within firing range.

Handing her backpack to Kurtis to stow behind them, she straddled the bike and kicked up the stand with her heel. The accelerator was sensitive, and while reversing out of the space Lara knocked into another motorcycle, which in turn sent another falling. Behind her, Kurtis inhaled sharply, as she quickly reassured, "It was just the tyre."

Once clear of the bikes, Lara gave the accelerator a brisk turn, sending them up onto one wheel before they tore down the laneway well above the speed limit. Behind them guns fired, too far out of range to do any damage.

Lara released a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding as they rounded the corner onto a main road. The air rushing past her chilled her wet clothes; fortunately, the air temperature was warm enough for that to not be a particular concern for her. Behind her, Kurtis was still shivering, but she suspected that was more due to his ordeal than to wet clothes. In contrast to her cold front, the contact between was sweltering; their combined body heat warming their damp attire.

His hands were placed one over the other on her stomach, and she relaxed into them, leaning back a little. Behind her, Kurtis interpreted this movement as discomfort, and shifted around in the seat. While he was away from her, she took the opportunity to remove her plait from being pressed between them, and placed it in front of her.

With one of his hands holding the edge of the seat and the other on her stomach, she had a sudden and vivid feeling of déjà vu. Tilting them around a corner, she focused on that feeling - and identified from one of her lucid dreams.

"Kurtis," she asked uncertainly, turned her head a little toward him but keeping her eyes on the road, "do you have anything to tell me about a test tube?"

He fidgeted again behind her, but she couldn't identify whether it was discomfort from the seat or from the question. Eventually, he settled, taking time to consider his answer in a way that made Lara very suspicious. "Test tube?" he eventually asked, too innocently.

Lara decided to stop being enigmatic. "Yes, I recall this little experience where you picked me up off the tiles and led me to a test tube."

"Dreams are cryptic," he stated simply. She wasn't sure whether he had simply concluded that it was a dream, or whether he knew something more.

"Well, you were in my house," Lara explained, frustrated. "Probably doing that mystical powers thing over my bed..."

Kurtis breathed out through his nose, rather irritated, she thought. "I'm not telepathic Lara. I'm telekinetic. They're two different things."

He had a point, she thought, wondering what the reason for her dream had been. Perhaps she had subconsciously known he was there and had therefore worked him into the dream? But she'd had more than one; and they were always the same. Which meant that unless he'd be visiting her nightly over the week they were happening, that couldn't be the reason. He clearly knew something about the contents of her dreams, though, which meant the test tube and its contents were real.

After a few more minutes of silence, he exhaled at length. "I'm sorry, that was very snappy," he said, referring to his pedantic explanation of terms. "But it wasn't me."

"I thought you'd given them to me," she confessed, surprised that he hadn't. "You just seem very.... You in them."

"....so I was that good, then."

"Kurtis!" She elbowed him, and he chuckled into the nape of her neck. When he was still again, she realized that he'd stopped shaking. Thankful he had relaxed a little, she took one hand from the grips and laid it over the hand on her stomach, originally intending it to be purely comforting. He spread his fingers a little, allowing hers to fit between them. Hands interlaced, Lara felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She became acutely aware of every way their bodies were connecting, his thighs on either side of her hips, his stomach pressed against her back, his forearm under her ribs, and his warm breath on her chilly neck. It was the simplest of movements - but what it implied was momentous.

"I should have said something," she thought she heard him say quietly into her shoulder; but the engine could have distorted the sound. Lara pursed her lips; it was true no matter what sense he meant it in. He had clearly known they were going to be ambushed in dome - she recalled his impatience with the computer - or he wouldn't have brought her along or hidden his bike. If he meant in terms of not telling her he couldn't swim, as easily as she was able to forgive him for it, she could have been shot while she was fishing for him under the surface. Lara didn't even know what information he had needed from the computer in the first place, yet he expected her to put her life on the line for him. She hated the feeling of being used; and she had a nasty feeling this was one of those situations.

"Yes, well, you'd better start talking," she told him, an edge of annoyance in her voice. "I don't like secrets that can kill me."

They reached Ezguk's residence, and she pulled the bike up to where he had parked it before. Kicking the stand down, she stepped onto the ground, her legs adjusting to the change of position as she waited for Kurtis to alight behind her and return her backpack.

"How are we going to get back in?" She asked him, looking dubiously at the intercom.

Kurtis scratched his head uncomfortably. She put her hands on her hips, as he said, "I was hoping you could..." He gestured vaguely towards the fence.

"...climb over and let you in the gate, right?"

"Something like that," he exhaled. "Believe me, I don't like my situation any more than you do."

The fence seemed simple enough; it was sandstone like the house, and finding foot and handholds wasn't a problem for her. At the top she rested a minute, shaking her smarting hands and looking down at him, expecting to see encouragement. Instead, his eyes were cast downward. She opted to drop down on the other side, misjudging the distance a little in the dark, and jolting her joints. Her groan at the impact caused Kurtis to rattle the gate as he strained his neck to see what had happened.

Once she had let him in, they both examined the door. It was bolted, and neither of them knew how to pick locks. Lara put her hand through the cat-door and stretched upwards, feeling around for the inside mechanism. She had her whole shoulder in the door before she was able to reach it, so when her weight opened the door her arm got slammed against the wall.

She bit her lip against the pain, withdrawing her arm slowly and letting Kurtis help her to her feet. Her whole arm tingled, and her shoulder felt like it was swelling to the size of a watermelon.

"Is it broken?" he whispered, his hand moving towards her shoulder.

"Not broken," she replied, batting his hand away and launching her joint into the doorframe. There was an audible clunk as her shoulder rolled back into position, and a rush of warm blood flooded her arm. However, her shoulder was still causing her a fair amount of pain. In fact, quite a number of parts of her were.

Kurtis winced at the sound her joint made, "Come on, let's go upstairs."

"Don't be surprised if I shoot you in your sleep," she told him, feeling a little resentful, and relatched the door behind them.

The clock in Lara's room read 2:05, and in response she felt totally exhausted. All her body wanted to do was get out of her wet clothes and into a warm bed; but she at the same time she was desperate to hear what Kurtis had been keeping from her. She swung her soggy backpack over her shoulder and discarded it near the floor, hearing the wet contents squelch on impact.

"I'm going to change," Kurtis reached toward the doorknob to pull it closed behind him.

If he locked his door, I couldn't get in, Lara thought suddenly. And tomorrow, he might feel cocky enough to take me for granted again.

"No you're not," she told him, taking him by the forearm and jerking him into her room. Behind her, she locked the door to make it harder for him to escape.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, exasperated, his voice going up an octave higher than usual in surprise.

"You've got some talking to do," she told him, advancing.

"That can wait," he told her conclusively, clearly unaffected by her approach.

"I've had enough waiting. I'm sick of always waiting until you're ready," her voice was raised, and she realized she was probably audible through the rest of the house. Surprisingly, she realized she didn't care. She ached all over, and he was hardly scratched. "I have the disk. I'm going to get a look at what's going on myself."

Recognition flashed across Kurtis' face, and he glanced toward her backpack as if judging his odds of successfully snatching it from her. When she put a boot on the strap and began to lean toward it herself, he looked genuinely alarmed.

"Lara, you don't even know what you're playing at," he warned her, not taking his eyes off the bag.

"If you told me, I'd be able to make an informed decision!" She retorted, rummaging through the main pocket and unearthing the wet envelope with the gold CD.

He made a grab for it, and missed. "I'm not in the mood for this," he growled impatiently as if she were a child throwing a tantrum, and instead of grabbing for the CD, reached straight for her hair. His hand never met its target as she kicked his legs out from underneath him, only discovering that he had been holding her other wrist when they both hit the floor with a thud. She dropped the CD as her forearm smacked into the ground, jarring a muscle.

As quick as she was, she was no match for his strength. Flipping her over onto her back, he sat heavily on her thighs and pinned her wrists above her head with a single hand. The other went straight to her throat.

She cried out, struggling, and wondering why the housekeeper and Ezguk didn't come to her aid. He didn't lean his weight on her throat, instead pressing a thumb against her windpipe as he regarded calmly.

His eyes were unreadable, the lips that had tickled her ear earlier set firmly in a thin line. Despite herself, she felt tears welling up in her eyes, "What are you doing...?" she whispered, unable to understand his sudden turnabout, and wondering whether he truly intended to kill her. Just when she thought she was inside his head, he was inside hers. All she could think about was their hands interlaced on her stomach as they had driven home.

An indecipherable expression on his face, his eyes searched her. "Kissing you."

He leaned down toward her.

She stiffened, her eyes widening as his lips brushed the space between her eyebrows. She could feel his goatee prickling the bridge of her nose, and she shut her eyes to protect them. He rose from her for a moment; frighteningly, she didn't know whether to expect him to crush her throat or kiss her again. Tears of confusion escaped from under her lids, she felt him tenderly kiss each of them away.

There was a pause; she fluttered her eyes open and blinked through the tears. His face was inches from hers, their breath mingling between them. She searched for a hint of softness, or compassion - anything - and found nothing.

"Let me go..." she breathed, unsure of how he would react to her request.

"I can't tell you," he leant forward again and placed a slow kiss on one of her cheeks.

"What...?" He wasn't making any sense, and Lara wasn't sure whether she was more afraid for her life, or her heart.

"About what I needed today. I don't want to hurt you - don't come looking for it."

"Alright..." she swallowed against his thumb, "Kurtis, I wish you'd just tell me what's going on." She was sore, exhausted and confused; she just wanted it all to end so she could sleep peacefully.

He pulled back from kissing her other cheek, looking her directly in the eyes, so close she could barely focus on him. With his breath touching her nose, she smelt stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.

He removed his thumb from her throat and brushed it softly over the rise of her cheek, and she swore she saw a flicker of regret. "Just trust me, Lara. It's too dangerous for you to know. Don't make this any harder for me that it already is."

Her heart pounding against her ribcage, she shook her head slightly. What could possibly be so dangerous that she couldn't be told? Was he even aware of how she lived her life, what she'd done? Lara wondered vaguely if he was trying to protect her because of some preconceived notion of female sensibilities. Although, he hadn't displayed that attitude in the bioresearch facility when they'd opted to split up. He expected her to trust him implicitly based on a few cryptic directions and words, yet he wouldn't even trust her to keep her mouth shut about whatever he knew.

After a moment of silence, he stood from her. She could have tipped him over again; but she found herself unable to - he looked so intense, so serious. Would he have strangled her if she had? Instead, she lay with her back to the carpet, her legs tingling as blood and feeling returned to them.

The CD was only arms' reach away, and he bent down to pluck it off the floor, groaning a little as his hand rose to his midsection to cover where the scar was. Standing again, he tucked the soggy object in his waist pack. After regarding her at length, he stepped over her and unlocked the door.

"You're leaving me here?" Lara asked in disbelief.

"You're a big girl. I'm pretty sure you can get off the floor by yourself," no hint of humour; she wasn't sure whether he was being cruelly sarcastic or just joking with her.

Her hand shot out and held the door in place as Kurtis opened it. "You can't go now!" she pleaded, hoping he wouldn't tread on her hand. "Stop these mind games..." she trailed off, not sure how to finish her sentence.

He took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. "You don't know how much I wish I could," he confessed, "I need to be alone. There's too much I need to think about."

Surrendering, Lara released her grip on the door, and he closed it behind him.

Feeling confused, infinitely sore and coldheartedly betrayed, she lay on her side staring helplessly at where he had just been standing.

Lara knew from the outset that she'd have a restless night.

Kurtis' heavy footsteps had moved from her doorway, paused, and then echoed down the hall. Listening to them fade, she had lain on her side for some time, staring at her door as the clock ticked hypnotically behind her. She had briefly considered following him despite his warning, but decided against it before any real deliberation. Her throat still throbbed, even though he had barely put any weight on her neck; she didn't want to find out what he could do if she pressed him to react.

Her brow was still wet with his kiss, and her cheeks from her confused tears. As the effects from adrenaline diminished, she was able to get some perspective on the event. She had feared for her life only whilst she had been struggling initially; at no time did Kurtis even give her the impression he was likely to immediately harm her. In fact, considering her aptitude to escape, his intentions were probably effective restraint. However, that logic didn't stop her from being incredibly angry.

So, the question was, what was so important that he needed to give her that sort of warning? Why wouldn't he just tell her, and trust her not to act on the information? Lara exhaled at length. She already knew the answer, as much as she didn't like to admit; she would go against his request and act on whatever was on that disk. Still, she was frustrated that he considered himself able to bear the information, but would not give it to her.

She nurtured intense feelings of hatred toward him for a few moments, feeling betrayed. Her feelings of betrayal should probably have centred around his assumption she wouldn't mind risking her life for him, but instead they focused on the motorcycle ride and their hands interlaced on Lara's stomach.

If he knew he was going to be so tough with me later, Lara thought, he shouldn't have done that.

Rolling onto her back, she took a breath, and recalled the image of him hunched over her. The dim globe had thrown shadows onto his already dark face, making him look more menacing than perhaps he had intended to. That close, she was able to see the new lines at the corner of his eyes, and a furrow that would within the next few years become a permanent feature of his brow.

It briefly occurred to her that the only reason he had shown her affection during the scuffle was to distract her from the data CD and the reason they were fighting. She wondered if he was truly that heartless; to drag her into a skirmish, then try and finagle his way out of involving her in the bigger picture by seducing her. On consideration, she decided that his intention was more likely a warning than a seduction. He did kiss me, though, she thought, five times - on my brow, beside my eyes, and on my cheeks. His lips were warm and surprisingly soft; she had expected with the amount of stubble on his face for the experience to not be as pleasant as it was. Despite his goal not being so romantic, he always treated her so tenderly - both there and at the Louvre - and to Lara, the combination of affection and adrenaline was addictive.

She pushed a hand against the carpet and propped herself up with an elbow, her shoulder tingling and imprinted with the pattern of the rug. The wrist she had jarred when falling through the door throbbed, and she wasn't welcoming putting more weight on her knees and ankles after that fall. Meanwhile, her clothes were still damp and beginning to smell like mildew as her body warmed them up.

She sat forward and peeled off her top, flicking it into a corner, and doing similarly with her sports bra. Easing herself gingerly back onto her sore limbs, she stepped out of her jeans and hung them on the edge of the bed to dry. Before finding her pyjamas, she spent a few minutes taping her knees and ankles, more to ease the pain than for any therapeutic benefit.

The bed sheets were starchy and felt alien to her; and she was reminded of a brief stay in hospital after her ordeal in Egypt. Kurtis dealt with this for weeks, she thought, and then chastised herself for bringing him back in mind. _I wish he'd called me while he was in hospital_, she sighed, thinking about how much she'd wanted chocolate and how none of the staff would let her eat. At least these beds had plenty of pillows, though - she was able to strategically prop herself on her back so that her sore shoulder didn't touch anything.

_We could've been lying here together_, she realized, thinking of Kurtis down the other end of the hall. _If I hadn't stolen his disk, and he hadn't squashed my legs and nearly strangled me, that is_. Then again, she probably wouldn't have been so indiscreet as to invite him to stay that soon; especially in the house of someone she'd only just met. But, it was relatively entertaining beating herself up over it and imagining what could have been.

Sunrise came unfortunately early, and Lara, despite being an early bird, made a well-considered decision to groan in complaint and pull the duvet over her head. However, towards the apex of the morning she realized as the room began to heat up that the house had no climate control. Rather than try and ignore it, thus waking up dehydrated and with a pounding headache, she decided six or so hours was enough and it was time to get up.

Her body protested her leaving the bed, her shoulder pulling sharply and her joints aching, but she couldn't stand her hair reeking of pondweed any longer. After a shower, she tested her jeans, which were dry but had the same stale smell, and sprayed them all over with her deodorant before putting them back on. Deciding to ditch the black top that was crumpled in the corner from the night before, she instead chose her old turquoise sleeveless.

Driven out of her room by hunger and boredom, her first point of call was Kurtis' door. It was open, and on inspection, the room was empty of Kurtis - and full of cigarette smoke. Lara wrinkled her nose; she had hoped most of his cigarettes had been lost to the lake.

There was a noise behind her, and she jumped, startled, and pulled her head back into the hallway. Behind her was the housekeeper, a knowing smile on her plump face as she chuckled. Lara didn't know what to make of it, and accepted an enveloped held out to her. The woman said something jubilant in Turkish, and bustled off.

Expecting the envelope to be from Kurtis, she tore it open and unfolded the letter within. She was disappointed to find the note in beautiful cursive.

_Lara,_

_There was some sort of problem at the university last night, so I have to go in early this morning and I don't know what time I'll be back. I know you hate doing errands for people, but Leighton had to rush off and I desperately need your help. I know you charge highly for your time - I'll negotiate a price with you this evening. There's a wrapped package on the conservatory table, it needs to be taken to floor nine of 190 Akzemutya Road. Just tell them I sent you._

_Kind Regards,_

_Toby_

She resisted her immediate urge to screw up the note and discard it onto the floor. _Well, Toby_, she thought, not too happy with his inclination to use familiar first names with her, _what choice have you given me?_ She was staying in his house and using his amenities, after all. A quick trip back to her room for her original map had her realize the building was actually quite close by. Small sacrifice, she decided, and figured she would take the package straight after breakfast.

Kurtis was, as Ezguk had mentioned, gone. The housekeeper hadn't had a chance to clear away his dishes from the conservatory table, and they were still beside the package Ezguk had put there afterward.

No manners, she thought, looking at his haphazardly placed knife and fork; then wondered why she cared that much about his etiquette. He'd had eggs and bacon, probably tomato and something else as well, and there were remnants of black coffee in a nearby teacup. From the smell, she guessed the coffee had been very strong. _Don't blame you_, she reflected, the intermittent shoulder pain trying to direct her back into bed.

The housekeeper probably would be happy to offer her breakfast - but Lara didn't feel like trying to negotiate with someone who spoke no English. Besides, she could pick up something on the way to the delivery.

Afterward, she had a number of options about how she could spend her time. She was curious to find out what had happened to the shopkeeper's family, and look further into the murder she had witnessed. Otherwise, she could try and find out where Kurtis had disappeared to, and follow him. If he wasn't going to tell her what was going on, then she would simply have to use her own initiative to find out. Hopefully she would also get the opportunity to either thump him or trap him somewhere and gloat at him for a few minutes, as well.

The package was slightly too big to fit inside her backpack, so she tucked it under an arm after spending a few minutes investigating the box and trying to guess what it was. Writing in black indelible ink addressed the package to an 'R. Fletcher'. Another English name, Lara thought, wondering exactly how many Brits called Catalca home.

Without the timed lock on the gate during the day, she was able to take a moment to appreciate the dedication to detail in the garden. It had been clearly landscaped with the intention to turn the front yard into a small tropical paradise, and she was instantly reminded of the Pacific Islands. She was glad their attention to detail didn't extend to the pond, which only contained lazy goldfish.

It was only late morning, and already the sun was beginning to beat down on the streets, causing the main road in the distance to be obscured by steam rising from the pavement.

Lara located a small bakery on the corner of Ersikrisra Road, and entered. The inside was badly lit, and stinking hot from the ovens in the back room. A bored looking middle-aged man in a shabby singlet leaned on the counter, fanning himself with a brochure. Sweat slickened his half-bare chest, which was thick with black curly hair. He looked a little too interested in the fact that Lara had entered, his eyes tracking down along her front as he asked something in Turkish.

"English?" Lara asked, too hungry to be put off by his indiscretion. Looking around the room, she was able to see the bakery also stocked other items, herbs and spices, Turkish videos and some B-grade porn magazines. Figures, she thought, as she submitted herself to more ogling.

"Of course," the man assured her chest. "You lost?"

"Not yet. I'm hungry. Do you have Danishes?"

He looked at her blankly, "No. I think not." On her disappointment, he leaned his belly over the counter and gestured down through the glass to some items on display. "If you like sweet, we have these. Very sweet. They are Greek. If you don't like sweet, then these are good. Lots of cheese."

"I'll take the cheese," Lara decided, and handed him a note from her pocket. He accepted it from her, and then double-took, surprised. She stood calmly as he looked from the note to her, frowning. "I don't have enough coins," he admitted.

Lara was too hungry for this. "Just take the note, I'll need to eat later, as well."

A toothy smile spread across his face, Lara hoped he wouldn't push his luck with her. Instead, he simply nodded, saying, "Anything you need, just ask me, yes?" He gestured out the door to the bake room where she could see the corner of an oven, "My wife, too. Anything you need."

_Come to think of it..._ "Well, there is something, actually," she realized, as he bagged the cheesy pasty and handed it to her, "I hear there was a shooting last night. Do you know anything about that?"

He looked alarmed. "Don't worry. Catalca is safe, you are safe."

"Nothing, then?" She divided her attention between him, and trying to wriggle the pastry out of the paper bag with one hand.

He shrugged. "I only know what the newspaper said - the butcher shot himself about his son. If my son like that, I shoot myself too." He laughed darkly.

Lara quickly swallowed the bite she had taken of the pastry. "I'm sorry, I can't understand Turkish. What did the newspaper say about that man and his son?"

"You wait," he told her, and came around from behind the counter to the magazine stand. Under the filthy magazines was a stack of newspapers, and he took one, leafing through it. "Here! Arkrat, the man's name. He shot his head, reading a letter saying his son is found to be Zrankum."

"Zrankum?" Lara asked, taking another bite.

The man shook his head, looking defeated. "They are just children, you know, with no god. They think that turn away from our faith will give them freedom and truth." He offered her the paper, and she took it, tucking it into her backpack. Perhaps she could get Ezguk to translate it for him in exchange for her delivering the package. Clearly, the Zrankum was some sort of cult of atheists, if there was such a thing.

"More?" he asked her, as she finished off the pastry. She shook her head, wanting the deliver the package as soon as possible so she could visit the crime scene again.

Exiting the bakery, she heard the man call out behind her, "You are welcome any time here!"

Akzemutya road was a short strip of office buildings, constructed with dull gray stone and one-way windows. None of them were as high as some of the surrounding apartment blocks, but they were all at least 10 floors from the ground. Number 190 was wider than the rest, and divided into two sections. The bottom half was identical to the other buildings on the street; but the top half was thinner and taller, giving the fifth or sixth floor a massive terrace balcony. She could see the tops of trees planted thereon.

Inside 190 was well air-conditioned, and constructed of bleak marble. The security guard watched her rather boredly from a behind a reception counter, the monitors for several security cameras refreshing slowly behind him. She hadn't really expected to be delayed; she'd packed her pistol (and a dozen replacement clips) inside her bag and not at her hip. She smiled politely at him and approached the lift.

These lifts were much larger than the ones at the university, and had dull orchestral music playing from speakers in the roof. She leaned casually against the railing, examining her reflection in the metallic sides and waiting for the lift to arrive at the ninth floor.

However, at floor five, the lift pulled to a stop. The door opened to reveal the back of a blonde woman who was joking with someone further down the hall. She was wearing a black fitted suit with pants instead of a skirt, and had her hair wrapped tightly into a bun at the base of her neck.

Lara's skin prickled as she recognized the voice, and she quickly judged her chances of darting out of the lift beside the woman. However, in a second she was too late, and the figure spun around to enter the lift.

The sharp eyes looked her up and down for a moment, before recognition dawned on her face.

"Excellent, you're just in time!" The woman from last night approached Lara, a satisfied smile growing across her harsh features. Guessing she was being exceedingly sarcastic, Lara backed against the wall, the nose of her gun pressing into her shoulder-blade through the canvas. She could feel the colour draining from her hot cheeks, and her heart accelerating preparing for action.

The other woman noticed Lara's expression, and raised an eyebrow. "You look like you've seen a ghost," she joked, no trace of humour on her face. "It must be hot out." Lara immediately recognized why the woman had had such a strong accent in German – she was British. Another missing Brit, Lara reflected, deciding there must be a ghetto for British society in Catalca.

"Eh – I suppose," she answered in reflex, not really understanding what was happening. Without the release of action, the speed of her heart and her rate of breathing was beginning to make her feel light-headed.

"Well, do come through. I thought my package would never arrive." The woman stood aside, indicating for Lara to step out of the lift.

Lara instantly clicked. That look of recognition had simply been for the package tucked under her arm, and not for her face. She briefly wondered if the university grounds had been too dark for her to be identified, and hoped the woman wouldn't suddenly place her. She prayed to whatever was listening for her to get out of the building without the blonde woman remembering her from the night before.

The building was furnished in a distinctly modern fashion, with minimalist steel furniture and plush carpet in every direction. Lara made footprints through it with her boots, following the brisk woman down the corridor. The muscles in the blonde's legs appeared and disappeared as she walked, an active nightlife obviously creating more tone than would be expected in the calves of a business woman. Lara wondered how good she was with a gun, and whether she would need to find out.

The blonde stopped at a rather useless glass door to a visible office beyond, and held it open to usher Lara in. "I suppose I need to sign something?" she asked, fishing a pen out of her front pocket.

"I'm sorry…?"

"Oh, are you not with a company, then? A freelance courier or such?" She tucked the pen back into her pocket, and turned towards her leather handbag that was hanging on a hook behind the door. "I suppose I'll need to pay you now, in that case. How much has Toby already given you?"

"Nothing," Lara answered truthfully, choosing not to explain that she was currently a guest in his household. It seemed safer at this point to let the blonde woman assume that she really was just a courier. "You must be R. Fletcher…" she realized aloud, setting the package down on the desk as the woman in question rifled through her handbag.

"Yes, of course," she answered vaguely, focused on the contents of her purse. "Just Roslyn. I know it's odd, but would you accept payment in pounds? I still can't get used to the currency here." Lara certainly remembered a very different woman from the dome the night beforehand. Perhaps because of the dark she was mistaking this woman for their pursuer simply because she was a blonde woman in Turkey? Lara certainly thought her senses were sharper than that; the woman had the same hard lines and features, even a very similar voice albeit in a different language.

"Pounds is fine," she answered, somewhat amused to be accepting payment from someone who had wanted both her and Kurtis dead. She accepted fifty pounds from the pointy hands decked out in expensive jewellery, and tucked it over her shoulder into the front pocket of her backpack. "Thanks," Lara nodded at the woman, and edged towards the door, anxious to leave while luck was with her.

"You must be in a hurry, then. Don't let me keep you," Roslyn was clearly talking to Lara, but was completely focused on the package sitting beside her computer. "There's a kitchen down the hall if you need a drink."

"Thanks," Lara repeated, and exited, closing the glass door behind her. Once outside the door, she realized that Roslyn was going to open the package immediately. Curiosity got the better of her, so in order to avoid people working in nearby offices from thinking she was spying on the woman, she retrieved her mobile phone from her bag and pretended to be keying in a short message on it. From the periphery of her vision, she could see Roslyn chaotically tearing off the brown paper wrapping. There was an exclamation, and the woman reached into the package and pulled out what appeared to be some sort of gold sculpture. It looked quite old, but shone with a dull glow that hinted to Lara of a recent polishing. Roslyn generously held it up to the light so she was able to regard it, a genuinely amazed smile glossing her harsh features.

The sculpture was flat and triangular – which was enough to worry Lara. Triangles having featured rather prominently in her dreams and in her memories, it was not relaxing to be presented with a mysterious gold triangular sculpture of unknown origin. As Roslyn turned slightly, reaching for a digital camera placed on the other side of her computer, Lara was able to see that while one side of the figure was smooth and flat, the other side was crawling with tiny lumps. The pattern reminded Lara of the end of a parking ticket, punched with holes for the ticket machine to read.

_Fabulous_, she thought sarcastically, _a triangular key to something that I've just stupidly given to the bad guys_. She wondered about the security system to the building and her chances of another successful midnight break-in. The prospect was a little too risky; and she was still sore from last night's escapades. I need to find out where that's going, she realized. The only safe way of doing that was to ask Ezguk, as she didn't want to draw any more attention to herself here. She had been fortunate this time that the woman didn't recognize her – but she didn't want to push her luck.

Interesting, the double life some people lead, Lara snickered to herself as she re-entered the lift, realizing she was also guilty of doing exactly that.

It seemed rather strange to Lara that Roslyn hadn't commented on the fact that Lara was also British, almost totally ignoring their shared nationality altogether. That, along with the size of the office and the signs all in English, struck Lara as suspicious. Large numbers of citizens from extensively wealthy countries do not just randomly migrate to poorer ones for no reason. Roslyn also had rather a large amount of British currency in her purse; most of her business was clearly in pounds. It stank of being underhand, like tax evasion or something along those lines.

_Curiouser and curiouser_, Lara told herself as she exited the office building.

She had been planning to go back to the bakery for Lunch, but was sidetracked by a fast food venue that looked suspiciously like the Turkish version of McDonalds. The limited but functional English of the customer service staff helped her pick out some sort of mass-produced chicken bread wrap and a coke, which she had finished by the end of the street.

Free to pursue her own ends, Lara found herself tracing her steps from the night before back to the rear entrance to the Butcher's. She had expected the whole laneway to be taped off, outline of where the body was and perhaps one or two officers standing around to make sure no one messed with anything. However, the only police tape on the scene was a nailed across the door and across boarded-up windows. There was absolutely no evidence someone had died in the lane the night before; no bloodstains, no bullet shells, nothing. Police and detectives would definitely not have washed the blood down the drain and removed the shells so soon after the murder.

But what if they thought it was a suicide? Lara remembered what the baker had read to her from the paper. There would be no way to determine what angle the bullets had entered the butcher's head; the type of ammo used exploded on impact. If someone had returned to the scene to mess with the body, they would have needed to have done it fairly soon after Lara had left. Blood dries quickly in hot weather and was impossible to remove from asphalt.

Staring at the ground, Lara recalled the two figures retreating. Did they go to have a drink and then come back to tamper with the scene? It seemed rather unlikely they would have gone to the trouble of leaving only to return soon afterwards. Which meant that someone else would have had to move the body.

"Surprise," a voice said casually behind her, and she snapped out of her reflection. Lara only needed to turn half way before the dark hair and familiar T-shirt gave the figure away.

"Kurtis. Back to stalking me again?" she asked him, and then added as she turned to fully face him. "Not going to strangle me this time?" Her voice contained more malice than she'd intended, and she mentally kicked herself for it. He didn't need to know their last interaction had kept her from sleeping for half the night.

"Maybe later," he told her. He was unusually glum, and there was no trace humour in his voice as he continued, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know… wrecking havoc, damaging everything. The usual," she crossed her arms, looking pointedly at the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He looked at it, and then to her, and almost rebelliously raised it to his mouth to inhaled deeply. He blew the trail toward her, and she resisted the urge to cough. Something occurred to her as she fantasized about spraying him with water. "Did you move the body?"

"What body?" he asked innocently, no indication that it was a question in his intonation.

She raised an eyebrow.

He paused a little, considering his answer in a way that made Lara decidedly suspicious. "I followed you here from the crusty fast food outlet. A tip off from Mr. Porn in the bakery on the corner."

"I'm not even going to ask what you were doing in there."

"Good, because I wasn't going to tell you, anyway." As he talked, smoke billowed from his nose and mouth. "Once again, what are you doing here?"

"That's my business, isn't it?" Her tone held more than a little irritation; the sight of filthy smoke oozing from an otherwise attractive man made her ill.

"I thought you trusted me." Taking a final drag, he then flicked the butt of his cigarette skilfully toward the drain which had recently been full of blood.

"You know, Kurtis, nearly throttling me isn't the best way to keep my trust." She was finding his mysterious act, which had on their first encounters seemed charming and even a little sexy, was becoming intensely tiresome. "So you can forget about getting information out of me until you're ready to give me the respect I deserve for flying halfway across the globe and saving your backside."

He paused for a moment, his eyes on the worn asphalt at her feet. "I didn't plan on strangling you." His voice was quiet, and monotone. "And I don't buy for a second that you would have let me do it."

Remembering her helplessness, Lara opted to not explain to him that had that been his intention, he almost certainly would have succeeded. Instead, she said flatly, "Just tell me what the bloody hell is going on here."

Considering his response, Kurtis tapped another cigarette out of the opening of the packet. Before he had it in his mouth, however, the crisp click of the safety switch on a 9mm drew his attention.

"Light it and lose it." Lara's patience was waning, and her aim was impeccable; she didn't doubt her ability to hit a cigarette out of his hand at close range. However, she wasn't entirely sure that she didn't subconsciously want to miss and hit his palm instead. "Just talk."

A flick of his wrist, and movement flashed in her peripheral vision.

Ignoring the whirr of his Chirugai she waved her handgun at him. "I'm waiting."

"Don't you think I would have told you by now if that was an option?"

"After being thrown to the floor and sat on, I'm not sure what to think," she answered bluntly. The Chirugai spun from her left to her right ear, very close to her eyes; her nerves of steel weren't so easily severed, however. The light spilling from the object did cause an echo on her retina – causing one side of Kurtis' face to fall into purple shadow. The side that was still clear watched her at length, before pursing its lips. The Chirugai snapped into his outstretched hand. "You know how I told you I'm telekinetic?"

She recalled his short temper when she mixed up telepathy and telekinesis on their trip home from the university. "Yes," she clipped, not following his lead by lowering her gun.

"I'm not so sure that that's what our friend from the university is."

Lara's eyes narrowed. The alternative to being telekinetic was clearly in this case being telepathic – but who exactly was he referring to? She briefly considered that he meant Tobias, before her arm dropped as possibility set in. "You don't mean Roslyn Fletcher?!" He heart lurched in her ribcage.

He looked sharply at her. "What?"

She took a shallow breath, a torturous flashback of the gold triangle in the woman's hands haunting her. "Kurtis, I just delivered an artefact to her office."

Motion returned to him as he shook his head incredulously, regarding her with an expression that might just as easily have been given to a three-headed dragon. "Lara, that was the third icon!"

While Lara was speechlessly piecing everything together, Kurtis exhaled at length and ran a hand groundingly through his hair. "What was I thinking? You really know how to screw things up, don't you?"

Her first reaction was to shoot him, there and then - a bullet to the neck; silent and lethal. The satisfying symmetry of leaving another corpse in a bleeding heap with rivulents of blood draining into the sewers was mildly tempting. Blasting that look of disgusted incredulity from his face, however, was the highlight of the fantasy. "If you only knew how close you are to having one less throat to insult me out of."

He shook his head, the corners of his lips tightening around his teeth. After pausing at length, he opened his mouth. "Well—"

Lara feinted toward him, accenting the movement with a jab of her pistol. "Don't—" She hissed through a clenched jaw, "—say anything until you've given due thought to how _you_ contributed to this predicament!"

His shoulders relaxed; brow-shadowed eyes matched her own with frustrated intensity. Patronizing her for a bad decision caused by leaving her ill-informed upset her more than she had expected. She briefly entertained a strong desire to slap him.

Instead, she opted to explain her perspective – which he seemed incapable of conceiving – as she followed his chin with the nose of her gun. "The reason that package got delivered," she advised him in a tone calmer than she felt, "was because someone neglected to tell me exactly what was going on and what I should be looking out for!"

"While I can appreciate that, _Ms Croft_, do you realize how difficult it's going to be to retrieve the icon?"

She exhaled slowly to prevent herself from losing her temper and shouting at him. "If this… 'icon' is life or death to you, _Leighton_, Ms. Fletcher is in an office block surrounded by white-collar business people and one bored-looking security guard. Fifty quid says we can walk casually in, hang around and wait for nature to call Ms. Fletcher away, nab the icon and walk briskly out with it."

Without any consideration for her proposal, he regarded her calmly. "Put the gun down."

Lara felt far too scorned to obey him. "I'm _so sorry _I can't do everything according to your great master plan." Her apology was laden with ample sarcasm. "Now, either we go into 190 and retrieve that mysterious glowing triangle from our nocturnal friend, after which you can tell me every intimate detail of what exactly those designs do, or you stop patronizing me and tell me what on earth is going on in Catalca!"

The sound of shrill laughter caused Lara to flinch, and spin toward the mouth of the alleyway.

"Someone's coming!" Kurtis hissed from behind her, and before she could protest, a sharp tug drew her into the familiar shadow of a rubbish bin. She bit her lip against shrieking at the movement; it was the shoulder she'd dislocated the previous night. A metallic clatter caused her to twist her neck toward the centre of the alleyway as her pistol skidded across the asphalt. "My gun!"

Beneath her, Kurtis grunted, holding his hand out toward the weapon which continued to slide until it was obscured behind a step leading to another doorway. Lara watched its progress with some concern until it was obscured by the stair, and then turned back toward her partner in the slender shadow of a domestic rubbish bun.

The pressure mounted as several sets of footsteps approached. A man was singing an incongruously jubilant tune, and a girl who clearly didn't know the lyrics was trying to join in.

It was difficult to ignore how closely they were crouched; especially given how sharply his otherwise blunt knee was pressing into her ribcage. Of more concern, though was his hand on her lower back, which felt suspiciously like it was cradling her protectively away from the edge of the shadow. He shot her a warning glance as she shifted between his knees, trying to relieve her asphalt-brailed palm from the ground. Having nowhere else to put it other than on his thigh, she reached up and hooked her fingers inside the collar of her turquoise halter-neck. She could almost feel his smirk burning into the side of her head. "My leg is very comfortable, you know," he breathed, his voice barely audible.

Lara didn't doubt that – a treacherous memory of resting her weight on his thighs as he lay dazed in the dim light of the university office made an untimely appearance – but she left her hand where it was. "I'd rather chew it off at the wrist, to be honest," she murmured.

He snorted, and inclined his head toward the on comers.

Although the approaching group was obscured by the bin, it was easy to guess who it consisted of. The singer, who paused occasionally to make comments, was most likely a middle-aged man of portly stature. Lara wasn't entirely sure how she came to that conclusion; although she had to admit he sounded like a Turkish Santa Claus. With him was a girl, probably five or six by the pitch of her voice, and a boy, perhaps eight or nine. With a jolt of adrenaline Lara recalled the faces of the sleeping children from her previous exploration of the house.

Kurtis tensed perceivably as the group approached their hiding place, but Lara was certain it wouldn't be an issue. Like a prophecy, the group stopped on the other side of the bin, and the key slid into the lock, resulting in a deft click as the mechanism turned. The door swung open, hitting the inside wall, and the children charged in, squealing, "Baba! Baba!"

Lara's heart sunk toward her stomach, listening to the man say something in a string of reassuring syllabary. The boy asked the man something, and he replied with a laugh and what must have been an affectionate clap on the boy's back. The girl giggled, and the sound of dual footsteps charging up the stairs followed.

The man continued to hum, in the doorway – and the sound stopped suddenly.

Lara inhaled sharply; her eyes darting toward Kurtis'. His left hand was poised over the Chirugai.

A shoe stepped onto the alleyway. The man mad an ambiguous noise under his breath, and a string of deft footsteps followed, leading slightly away from the pair. Lara leaned into Kurtis, her eyes closing briefly as prayed she wouldn't have to take another relative from the children.

His footsteps paused.

Kurtis twitched. "Your gun!" he breathed into her ear.

Lara pressed her lips together, listening to the clack of footsteps lead back into the house. The door closed.

They waited a moment, until they were sure the man was well inside, before they slunk sideways under several windows and stood. Kurtis lead Lara at a brisk walk to the end of the alleyway, which they rounded.

"We have to get that back," Kurtis noted evenly, a hop in his step as he shook blood into one of his calves.

Ignoring him, Lara realized, "They don't know he's dead."

"What?" There was genuine inquisition in his tone.

"The children, they don't know their father is dead!"

Kurtis shot her an accusative glance."You speak Turkish."

She rolled her eyes. "No I don't, but look at them. I'm not too clear on the details of how Muslims mourn, but I'm fairly sure upbeat singing and jubilantly calling out for the dead don't feature prominently."

He regarded her sidelong, but said nothing. "Regardless, that gun has your prints all over it."

"He retrieved it rather casually, don't you think?" She remembered she still had the wallet she'd taken previously inside her wet satchel. It would warrant some later investigation, she decided.

"My motorcycle is parked in front of McDonalds," he advised her, and headed toward the familiar golden arches. "We should probably head back to Ezguk's."

Using the intercom was a much less painful method of entry into Ezguk's house, Lara acknowledged as they ambled casually through the gate and up the main stairs, her joints still smarting from the previous night's escapades. The housekeeper bustled around them as they entered, trying to pry Kurtis' jacket from him and fussing over the pair as they headed into the conservatory.

Kurtis said something polite and rehearsed to her in Turkish, and his eyes darted upstairs toward the bedrooms.

"Don't think for a second you're off the hook," Lara murmured to him, noting where his eyes were resting.

He watched her neutrally, before seating himself at the head of the table – of course – and she settled into the couch that backed the wall. Her fingers unconsciously felt along the underside of the table. Kurtis waited under the housekeeper had departed for the kitchen before reassuring her, "There are no bugs – I've checked the whole house."

They sat in uncomfortable silence; Lara stared at her hands clasped together on the table in front of her, waiting for the housekeeper to bring them food. Just a few more moment, she reassured herself, and then Kurtis would be able to explain what the hell was going on in Catalca.

Kurtis shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a quick check yielding confirmation he, too, was lost in thought.

The housekeeper returned – bringing nothing less than a Devonshire tea, complete with fluffy scones and homemade jam, placing it with production before them and retreating through the hallway into the laundry.

Kurtis plucked a scone from the basket, splitting it with his hands and laying it on what look suspiciously like period china that had been presented to them to use as plates. "It wasn't me, if that's what you're wondering," He surrendered at last, opening the floodgates for explanation.

It was such a multi-faceted opener, Lara hardly knew in which direction to pursue it. "What wasn't you?"

He examined a knife, and then used it to scoop a portion of Jam from the dish. "The body, for starters," He paused. "The dreams. The chaos at the dig."

"A helpless bystander, I'm sure," she offered sarcastically.

He ignored her challenging tone. "The first icon was stolen there. I'm not sure who executed the theft. Someone with an AK47, apparently."

Lara remember the SWAT team toting that exact make of rifle pouring out of the lift at the university. "Fletcher?"

He smothered the scone in cream. "If she had something to do with it, she covered her tracks impeccably well."

"Where were you?"

"In the deeper recesses. There's some interesting architecture down there." He paused. "I have time-stamped photos, if you need any more proof."

Lara sincerely doubted Kurtis would have the slightest interest in architecture, and wondered why she felt compelled to give him the benefit of the doubt – especially considering his uncertain allegiance and history of manipulation. She watched him take a sizeable bite from his scone, and resisted the urge to moisten her lips.

Also worth consideration was their so-called adversary. At the university, Fletcher had presented as a challenging foe. However, Lara couldn't account for her mundane normality in the office. No sharp, analytical stare; no evidence of anything other than innocent pleasure in receiving this third icon. It didn't make sense. "She seemed so benign when I delivered the package to her."

Kurtis looked up from his food for a moment. "You can be rather benign, yourself." He took another bite, pushing around it his mouth before swallowing. "She's insidious, like a snake in the grass. One moment she's a company director, next, a highly trained assassin. To top that off, she's incredibly good with her telepathy and reading skills. Can you imagine if you'd know what was in that box when you went to deliver it to her?"

Lara pursed her lips. "Well, I wouldn't have delivered it to her, would I? There would have been a nasty accident in which several friendly neighbourhood thugs would have mugged me for it." Still, this Fletcher that Kurtis was talking about, and the Fletcher she had witnessed in the university… somehow didn't match up with the friendly, lost expatriate Fletcher she'd delivered the icon to. She idly toyed with the ear of the fifty-pound note she'd stuffed into her pocket. "It doesn't make sense, Kurtis. I felt that…. uneasiness at the university when she was extending those telepathic tendrils. At the office… nothing. She was rather nice to me, actually."

Kurtis shrugged. "Maybe you got lucky."

Lara threw a one-eighty. "I suppose there's three of them, and they're some sort of key to the ruins?" Lara asked, referring to the icons.

"Predictable, isn't it?" he acknowledged dryly, and disgusted Lara by licking the excess cream off his knife.

She ignored his appalling manners, "What's down there? Can I see the photos?"

"You can see the real thing, if you want." Kurtis set the knife down gently on the expensive china, leaning back into his chair, satisfied. At Lara's stunned silence, he explained, "Ezguk's taking us there tomorrow."

Rather than thank the brigand, Lara pressed, "And Ezguk? What role does he play in this?"

Kurtis made a face. "Aside from your average cluey historian, I'm having a very difficult time figuring that out."

A raised eyebrow was all the inquiry Lara offered.

He shrugged. "He knows more about the ruins that any other layman – he's been studying them since he was fourteen years old. Fletcher keeps him handy. I've been keeping tabs on Ezguk since she mistook me for Karel in Paris."

Lara's heart nearly threw itself out of her chest, and began to pound. "Karel? Joachim Karel!"

"The very same."

The calm tone sent chills along the surface of her skin, and for a split second she could see in crystalline memory Kurtis' face, Bouchard's face, Eckhart's face – all melting together to form the calculating smile of Joachim Karel. Her lips parted, and she eyed the knife, untouched, beside her plate.

No sooner had Kurtis sighted her expression, he reached out and placed a reassuring hand over hers. "It's Kurtis, don't worry."

She watched him, clarity releasing another rush of adrenaline through her. He wouldn't reassure her if she were being paranoid; he'd laugh and probably make some variety of joke at her expense.

A hazy memory of rocketing out of the laboratory with light blinding her and flames licking her boots surfaced; she hadn't even looked back. She'd rushed to the blood-stained arena in search of Kurtis. The irony of each of them miring the other's success made her want to slap her forehead; she supposed it was partly Kurtis' fault that she hadn't stayed to ensure that the entire construction had been adequately destroyed. Karel, being the resourceful survivor that he was, had clearly slithered off somewhere to lick his wounds and regroup.

The intricate flowers painted on antique crockery mocked her in their restfulness, and their implication of peaceful mundane life which, at times like this, she wasn't sure she didn't wish for.

She swallowed against a dry throat. "He's alive, isn't he?"

Kurtis' bleak silence was all that she required for confirmation.


End file.
